"I wish it were possible for me to do something," he said, drawing near to her. "There is nothing to be done," she said, clasping her hands together. "For me nothing. I have before me no escape, no hope, no prospect of relief, no place of consolation. You have everything before you. You complain of a wound! You have at least shown that such wounds with you are capable of cure. You cannot but feel that when I hear your wailings, I must be impatient. You had better leave me now, if you please." "And are we to be no longer friends?" he asked. "As far as friendship can go without intercourse, I
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