I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. “You’re so cute. ” “But Italy—” “Italy’s for a good girl,” he said, and laid his hand for a moment on her shoulder. It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone. "The key," replied the widow.
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