She turned to face him and he kissed her. “I love some one else. Damn! I’ve splashed. For when this Joan said it, I had a memory. She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. "The pocket-book you prigged contained the letters I wanted. This man and he were alike, and about the same age. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being.
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