I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish. "Those chops, fried potatoes, and buttered toast. "She has flown up stairs," replied the widow. Jack paused for a moment, and found that his own adventures formed the subject of the ballad. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said.
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