‘I have not asked for this trouble from anyone. “I am sorry,” he said slowly. I have a hundred of them—mixed blood—on my island, and they are always rooking me. You know they say, as, indeed, I have just quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage. His legs were dreadfully swelled; his hands bruised; and his fetters occasioned him intolerable pain. I don't want her hurt.
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