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“It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. But not once in these ten years had they borne blossom or fruit. When a mere child she fixed her affections upon a youth named Thames Darrell, whom her father brought up, and who perished, it is supposed, about nine years ago; and she has determined to remain faithful to his memory. "I can't hold it much longer—it'll break my wrist. She turned with an effort. ‘All so long ago and my memory ain’t what it was. I haven’t, anyhow.
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