I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. "What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. "A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice. I—I am a lovesick idiot, and not accountable for my actions. Presently repellance grew under the frozen mask of astonishment and dissipated it.
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