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ending devotion & the true lover (if perchance such a one exists) shuns her society & dares not say the words that tremble on his lips. Of course worldly goods surround her, she wishes a dress, a jewel, a horse she has it, but not all the money in the world can buy her a loving heart or a true friend, and so she sits on her throne, she money bags, and [[strikethrough]] the [[/strikethrough]] society bows to her [[strikethrough]] and [[/strikethrough]] because her pedestal is solid & firm and she doesn't seem perhaps quite human, but she has a heart just the same and the jeers or praise
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thrown with bows at her feet cut her and make the hours that should be spent happily pass in dreary succession on and on. Oh! will they ever end.

[[underlined]] November 16th 1895. [[/underlined]]

Harry Whitney is a brick! There is no doubt about that. We came to down yesterday

[[underlined]] November 13th. [[/underlined]] 

The wedding is over. It was nice. Harry is lovely [[?]] and we are going to be friends.