” “Excuse me,” Mr. . A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. She was marvellously pretty, but he was not quite sure—yet—that it was advisable for him to sit with her in so public a place. "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude.
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