"You are alone?" said one of the spinsters—Prudence Jedson. You cannot care for her. We needn’t try and give ourselves airs. “I want to be your friend,” he said. "Enough!" cried Jonathan, eagerly pocketing the memorandum. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. Wood rushed instantly to meet them. But I don’t want to.
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