A woman has a perfect right to choose her own husband, but Nigel seemed to think that there was something a little mysterious about your treatment of him. The impassivity of her features changed at last. " "What is it?" asked the poor woman. "Weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened. Don’t ask me how. I thought one had only to take it by the throat. His chest heaved violently, and big tears coursed rapidly down his cheeks. Without betraying the slightest confusion, or making a single remark, he quietly resumed his seat.
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