‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. This hand consigned him to destruction, but another was stretched forth to save him. She silently willed him to stop his pacing, to calm down. She went from period to period exactly as she would have read prose; so that sense and music were equally balanced. He opened the door for her with a faint disagreeable smile. Poor soul! she nearly died when she heard he had robbed his master; and it might have been well if she had done so, for she never afterwards recovered her reason.
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