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"I shall never speak of it, Peter, but I know sometimes when I am by myself I shall cry over it. Not because I doubt you, dear, but because you won't give me your confidence." "Do you know, Dear-heart, that I can't bear the thought of your doing that!" "Of course not, dear. That's the reason I tell you. I knew you couldn't bear it." "How did you know?" "Because I understand you, dear.

I want you always to keep your rooms just as they are?" "Dear-heart, after our six weeks' trip, we must be in Albany for three years, and when we come back to New York, we'll have a house of course." "Yes. But I want you to keep the rooms just as they are, because I love them. I don't think I shall ever feel the same for any other place.

And then I want you, without my asking to tell me why you told mamma that lie, and all about it." "Dear-heart," said Peter, "I cannot tell. I promised." "Oh, but that didn't include your wife, dear, of course. Besides, Peter, friends should tell each other everything. And we are the best of friends, aren't we?" "And if I don't tell my dearest friend?"

But he heard Bow-may, how she laughed by his side, and cried out: 'Gold-mane, dear-heart, now art thou merry indeed; and glad am I, though they told me that I am hurt. Ah! now beware, beware!

You'll not see anny more of this. Forget it, dear-heart won't you now?"