"My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. \"I'm sixteen, I'm a junior like you. Particularly when it was obvious the fellow was one of these pitiful wretches weak enough to allow themselves to be ousted from their inheritances and thus obliged to come seeking succour of their neighbours. But something instinctive prevented that, and with the finest resolve not to be “silly” and prudish she found that whenever he became at all bold in this matter she became severely scientific and impersonal, almost entomological indeed, in her method; she killed every remark as he made it and pinned it out for examination. I sit back now, letting life slip by and musing upon it; and I find my loneliness sweet.
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