‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion. It was warm, shielding, comforting, and what was more, full of understanding. She spoke readily enough, but there was a new timidity in her manner. ’—he’s frightfully anti-Mendelian—having it all their own way. It may be treacherous, it may lay up a store of future woe; but it insures present happiness, and that is sufficient. Never was there another girl like this one. My poor brain is so mixed, dear, I hardly know what I am saying. John turned toward the short staircase as she alit upon the first creaky step. Me, you may have.
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