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 raged within. "I am lost," she cried, "I love—I worship. To live without him will be death—worse, worse than death. One look, one smile from Glenarvon, is dearer than aught else that heaven has to offer. Then let me not attempt, what I have not power to effect. Oh, as his friend, let me still behold him. His love, some happier, some better heart shall possess." Again she started with horror from herself. "His love!" she cried, "and can I think of him in so criminal—so guilty a manner! I who am a wife, and more—a mother! Let me crush such feelings even now in their birth. Let me fly him, whilst yet it is possible; nor imagine the grief, he says my absence will cause, can exceed the misery my dishonourable attachment will bring upon both! And did he dare to tell me that he loved me? Was not this in itself a proof that he esteemed me no longer? Miserable, wretched Calantha;