He listened. Perhaps because I don’t know. He is the one who has said that she must go to the convent. "Do not shed more blood," cried the carpenter. She ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged dignity to veil the sinking of her heart. She wished she could steal his smiles and keep them in a box, they had always been so precious. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses.
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