"It is terrible, terrible," says Mona, piteously sinking on her knees beside the bed. One of his hands is lying outside the coverlet, and, with a gesture full of tender regret, she lays her own upon it.,
"It is forever!" he says, incoherently. "Oh, Mona, at least—at least promise you will always think kindly of me.",
"Av ye plaze, miss, will ye soon be comin'?".
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