There were joy-bells for Robert and Rhoda, but none for Dahlia To be a really popular hero anywhere in Britain (must be a drinker) To be her master, however, one must not begin by writhing as her slave Wait till the day's ended before you curse your luck William John Fleming was simply a poor farmer With this money, said the demon, you might speculate Work is medicine You who may have cared for her through her many tribulations, have no fear You choose to give yourself to an obscure dog You're a rank, right-down widow, and no mistake End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Rhoda Fleming, Complete by George Meredith
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