"There, don't cry, and you shall have it all your own way," he says, with a sigh. "To-morrow we will decide what is to be done.",
"Bless me, Nolly, you are not going to be ill, are you?" says Geoffrey. "Such a burst of eloquence is rare.",
"If ever you should be sorry afterwards," she says, miserably, still tormenting herself with unseen evils,—"if ever I should see discontent in your eyes, how would it be with me then?".
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