“I liked him, and I never undeceived him. "How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. Quick, now. In a moment he was beside her. In vain he fondly urged his suit, And, all in vain, the question put; She answered,—"Mr. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals.
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