The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. Their chit-chat stopped when they reached the bench. And I have wanted to so very much. "Sit down, fool!" "Jack," said Kneebone, who had been considerably interested by the foregoing scene, "are these regrets for your past life sincere?" "Suppose them so," rejoined Jack, "what then?" "Nothing—nothing," stammered Kneebone, his prudence getting the better of his sympathy. "It's Mrs. “Why?” “I still love you. If not, keep up your spirits. ‘Don’t be silly. “Do you believe me now?” She asked.
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