Take your pick, Mrs. “I know,” she said quietly, “that Paris, where she has been so much admired, is not a good place for her. He put his arms around her in a circular embrace. She leaves town to-morrow. ‘Can I not leave you for a day without you getting yourself into trouble?’ ‘Imbecile,’ she uttered faintly. "I am. ” She stopped buttoning her glove, and looked at him. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. She had expected a love story; and love was totally absent. I've my own reasons for disliking this job.
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