It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up. The person caught hold of his arm, and, in spite of his efforts to disengage himself, detained him. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. Buck up.
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