“Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. He found himself thinking up all the psychology which he had ever read. . "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. Or mad, just as the captain had said so many times. . Why not? Were not his own sentiments inclined in favour of the patient? But fifty gold was fifty gold. Kneebone took his leave. Looking for something, or someone, probably.
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