So the talk went on, and presently they were criticising novelists, and certain daring essays of Wilkins got their due share of attention, and then they were discussing the future of the theatre. I trust you will not accuse me of discourtesy if I express my pleasure that henceforth our ways will lie apart. In you—if you can love me—there is salvation. ‘Do not mix yourself in mine, and perhaps you will not die. Wood," she continued, with a sudden change of tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's arm, "promise it me.
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