” Her hands fell to her side. Her eyes were fixed upon the ground, the pink colour coming and going in her cheeks was very delicate and girlish. Blackness was beginning to consume the cornfield. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. "Confusion! the rascal must have picked my pocket of your letters," whispered Kneebone, "What's to be done?" "What's to be done! Why, I'm undone! How imprudent in you not to burn them. I love you.
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