Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. If you want advice, your aunt is the person. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. So there is no escape. A glance satisfied Jonathan that the turnkey was not aware of the prisoner's escape; and he resolved not to destroy what he considered a good jest, by a premature disclosure of it. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood.
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