There is no further hope. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. He chuckled. His own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding. Vorsack would staunchly disapprove of his attire, said nothing anyway.
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