The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. " "Ah!" exclaimed Mrs. I said I knew he disliked and distrusted you and your work—that you shared all Russell’s opinions: he hates Russell beyond measure—and that we couldn’t possibly face a conventional marriage. Will you marry me?” Anna looked at him in blank amazement. Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that.
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