It did not seem quite fair. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. He seldom spoke, and drank with a persistence that was sinister. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. But I am not worthy to be any man's wife —far less his wife. Depend upon it, there is a place for you—waiting.
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