‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. Gashes on his arms were already beginning to heal and disappear. Despite him, it was the beauty that she had inherited from her mother they had used to gain the betrothal, and it had not been easy. Things happen out this way. She delighted in frustrating him. A dreamy sense of content crept over him. The crowding impressions of the previous weeks seemed to run together directly her mind left the chaotic search for employment and came into touch again with a coherent and systematic development of ideas. She left for good after he fell asleep. She shattered the edifice he was building up of himself as a devoted lover, waiting only his chance to win her from a hopeless and consuming passion. I’m not such a bad sort.
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