They were so good to me. Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it. Had he not said so? Not that she wished him to marry her. His legs were dreadfully swelled; his hands bruised; and his fetters occasioned him intolerable pain. It’s odd how little I know of him, and of how he feels and what he feels.
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