“I suppose things have changed?” she said. Not at all. "No; it's only a fresh gale," Ben returned: "hark! now it comes. "I loved you," replied Jack,—"don't start—it is over now—I loved you, I say, as a boy. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved.
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