The Heir of Mondolfo
  
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The Heir of Mondolfo - Mary Shelley - As Ludovico rode along, and the first emotions of pity having, as it were, ceased to throb in his mind, these feelings merged into the strain of thought in which he habitually indulged, and turned its course to something new.”I call myself wretched,” he cried--”I, the well-clad and fed, and this lovely peasant-girl, half famished, parts with her necessary clothing to cover the dying limbs of her only friend. I also have lost my only friend, and that is my true misfortune, the cause of all my real misery---sycophants would assume that name--spies and traitors usurp that office.
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