You have spoken her name, I think, Marthe. ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. “I do not know whether to wish you success or not.
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