"He shan't go," cried Edgeworth Bess, holding him by the other hand. It was explosive and gratifying. I keep it for my own drinking," he added in a lower tone. He had not considered this aspect of the business. On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness. "My horses, Charcam," he said, as a servant appeared. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. "Try!" Enraged at the assurance of his mistress, the woollen-draper endeavoured to carry his threat into execution, but all his efforts to remove her were unavailing. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion.
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