“I would not have you go for anything,” she answered. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. “She has improved her style,” someone declared. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. ” “For a little time,” she answered. "Ah! I see. . And she was about as capable of intelligent argument as a runaway steam-roller. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her.
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