“My mind is full of confused stuff,” he said at length. "'Odd's-my-life! what's this?" exclaimed the carpenter, looking at the superscription of one of them. “I don’t know where to go to. She loved him. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar. ’ ‘How could he when he didn’t even handle it himself? Went off, I told you, and left it all to me.
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