He then arose, and, taking a few turns in the chamber, stopped suddenly before her. He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. "As I could wish!" cried Jonathan. Was it a week ago? No, perhaps more. No man knew whence she had come nor why. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. He’s—He lives in a world of possibilities outside your imagination. He might call her wife, but she refused to give him his wedding night.
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