"All I want is to be happy!" she said aloud, as if she were asking for something of such ordinary value that God would readily accord it to her because there was so little demand for the commodity. Jeremiah Jackson's double. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill. Looked like them statues of the Holy Mother I see about the place. "I can, and will. What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted.
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