He renewed his supplications to Sharples, but with no better success than heretofore; and the greater part of the night was passed by him and the poor widow, whose anxiety, if possible, exceeded his own, in the most miserable state imaginable. “I suppose you know I like you tremendously?” he pursued. There is no Heaven for your mother. She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk.
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