" "I hope you never may, my love," humbly acquiesced the carpenter. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. She decided to go on, after a momentary halt. But she had loved the man. Sometimes she missed her cue and nodded affirmatively when the gesture should have been the reverse; and Prudence would send her a sharp glance of disapproval. It’s a beautiful plant, but a tender one.
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