But the indecision, which had been fatal to his race, was fatal to him. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality. didn’t have to. She could not speak. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. On a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevolence.
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