It is so that I may marry an Englishman. Death belongs to God, young man. Good looks, with a melancholy cast, always drew sentimental females. I told him the truth. You are without sense and not sympathique in the least. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. At least I rather hoped I might spend my time chasing smugglers, which would have afforded some excitement. After a brief conversation, which Sheppard sustained with his accustomed liveliness, the old man turned to Bess and addressed a few words of common-place gallantry to her.
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