He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. I have had no one but for you. "But you've given me what I don't possess.
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