167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. Have you not tired of sadness and pain?” 81 She thought she could hear tears in his voice but would not look at him. Nothing, in short, portable or valuable was left. "Sit down, fool!" "Jack," said Kneebone, who had been considerably interested by the foregoing scene, "are these regrets for your past life sincere?" "Suppose them so," rejoined Jack, "what then?" "Nothing—nothing," stammered Kneebone, his prudence getting the better of his sympathy. Hang the wench! Roding was right. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping.
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