I guess. . You wanted to play a lone hand. . ” She said. ‘You are rude, and stupide, and altogether a person with whom I do not wish to speak. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool. “I can only repeat what I said before,” she declared.
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