'Forgive me the words, St. John; but it is your own fault that I have been roused to speak so unguardedly. You have introduced a topic on which our natures are at variance—a topic we should never discuss: the very name of love is an apple of discord between us—if the reality were required, what should we do? How should we feel? My dear cousin, abandon your scheme of marriage—forget it.'
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怠慢月色