“And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding. She’s as stubborn as the proverbial mule, and—’ with a sigh that felt wrenched out of him ‘—utterly captivating. Her concluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough. "Yes; he'll suspect nothing. " The spinster had no retort to offer such directness. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened.
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