“Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. “I do not know what you mean,” he said, “but if you are referring to any little coolness since our marriage let us never speak of it again. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE.
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