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I just like you, Mary, and we’ve had a lot of fun. “Too much sensibility and too cold a heart. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. But, not daring to confess his want of comprehension, he made a profound reverence, and retired. "I owe you nothing," he repeated, dully.
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