“Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this yet. There’s that old gentleman at the end of the table—Bullding his name is. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated. A physiognomist, indeed, would have likened him to that crafty animal, and it must be owned the general formation of his features favoured such a comparison. "Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly.
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