“You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. ” “Act two,” she continued.
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