But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. Then it dawned. She shattered the edifice he was building up of himself as a devoted lover, waiting only his chance to win her from a hopeless and consuming passion. "I don't deserve it," he said, at length; "but I would have risked a thousand deaths to enjoy this moment's happiness. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. He wisely refrained from questioning the manager of the Victoria. They always get back together.
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