\"Is there something desperately wrong with your house?\" \"There is nothing wrong with our house. As long as your son observes that precept I'll befriend him, but no longer. His business has thriven; legacies have unexpectedly dropped into his lap; and, to crown all, he has made a large fortune by a lucky speculation in South-Sea stock,—made it, too, where so many others have lost fortunes, your humble servant amongst the number—ha! ha! In a word, Sir, Mr. “But you’re wrong. Cathy stood in the bedroom hallway in her faded blue bathrobe. "She considers her future blasted beyond hope. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. It was not possible. The sounds that reach the ear, and the objects that meet the eye, are all calculated to awaken a train of sad and serious contemplation.
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