For I still love her mother. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over. Altogether, it was the most dreadful noise he had ever heard. At length she hit upon it: bubbling water. Let us be friends—as near and close as friends can be.
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