In this moment he could have stamped upon the Wastrel's face, and ended the affair; but all that was clean in him, chivalrous, revolted at the thought. "What have you got there in your breast—a stone? Is there blood or water in your veins?" The dam broke, but not with violence. A dreamy sense of content crept over him. “To my chagrin, I have. Mischief bubbled up in her. Lest the carpenter should be taxed with too much uxoriousness, it behoves us to ascertain whether the personal attractions of his helpmate would, in any degree, justify the devotion he displayed.
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