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“MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. The mighty concourse became for a moment still. But she no longer obsessed over heresy, no longer did she feel cursed by God. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. He was at length rescued from his assailants,— rescued to perish, seven months afterwards, with every ignominy, at the very gibbet to which he had brought his victim. I do not even know his name.
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