"I'm sorry, Mr. “How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime. Her eyebrows, pulled down by the stress of thought, now resumed their normal arches; and pleased with her discovery, she smiled. “What have you done to yourself?” he muttered. I have brought disgrace upon you, and I haven’t been the right sort of wife at all. "And so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?" continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,—"rob the mails, like Jack Hall, I suppose.
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