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Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. I should have gone mad without it. "Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. But to make an arrest to be like a revenge? No, a thousand times. My death, probably. While the carpenter irresolutely quitted the room, with a strong presentiment of ill upon his mind, a light quick step was heard descending the stairs, and before he could call out to prevent it, a man was admitted into the passage. Of you—an angel with one wing.
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