"What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. I do not choose the vicomte, for that would be foolish. ‘Even the nuns they say I am like a devil. “I had the pleasure of—er—meeting you more than once, I believe. Smith decidedly the plainest of the two. “I didn’t know Mr. " "I don't understand you," replied Kneebone, in some confusion. And put ‘em in little books for remembrance. Don’t go back into Victorian respectability and pretend you don’t know and you can’t think and all the rest of it.
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