Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. F. Blueskin fought his way towards it, and exerting all his strength, cutting right and left as he proceeded, reached it at the same time. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you.
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