And yet—you millionaires should really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. “Why?” He inquired. Stanley professed a great solicitude to warm his hands. "Can't you see? I can't hurt her, if … if she cares! I can't tell her I'm a madman as well as a thief!… What a fool! What a fool!" A thief. CHAPTER XXVI.
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