They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. In all his life he had never realized a dream; but the thought had never before hurt him. “The rarefied air? I thought you had a better head. Well one night, some of us saw him, or thought we saw him, at a café dining with ‘Alcide,’—as a matter of fact, it seems that it was her sister. “He couldn’t look me in the face and say it,” said Ann Veronica.
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