I’m ashamed to confess it, but I didn’t want the charge of you—a too close reminder of my own lost babe. “You will go and see her,” he begged. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. Springing upon the box, he told the coachman to make the best of his way to Saint Giles's.
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