“But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. "Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. I had been about as foolish and selfish as a girl could be. Then you won't tell me where he's going?" "I will tell you six months from now. But there is something in your voice that makes me distrust you.
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