” “You may be sure of the one,” she murmured. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. It was his tall stance and his pale skin that drew him out of the crowd. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion.
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