Now we meet again, and you will scarcely look at me. Vorsack looked pale and pink. Paris, 18. But in the train going home her aunt reasoned it out. The Dawn Pearl; how well they had named her! The pearl without price—his and not his! He took her arm and drew it under his; and together they went down the veranda steps. In the retrospect she was amazed to think how things had gone to pieces, for at the outset she had been quite prepared to go home again upon terms. Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands.
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