’ He moved to his friend and grasped his hand in a gesture as deliberately dramatic as the storytelling of mademoiselle. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt. So I undertook to protect her by keeping love out of her life, by crushing it whenever it appeared, obliterating it. She got home every night in time to cook supper and it was good money. Now I know that you don’t live as close to the Beck house as you once pretended. "Forgive me—oh, forgive me!" "Forgive you—bless you!" she gasped.
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