“Then why the devil,” he demanded, “do you let me stand you dinners and the opera—and why do you come to a cabinet particuliar with me?” He became radiant with anger. . ” “I’m sorry. His tone was rough, almost threatening. Tell me that you are not sorry to see me again. ‘Do you need an excuse?’ ‘Oh, you know what doctors are. " "It was her own fault," observed Blueskin, moodily. “I saw—they knocked off your fetters yesterday. I know in Paris you pinched and scraped that your sister might have the dresses and entertainments she desired. Shari draped herself lazily upon her unmade bed. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls. .
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