The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. ‘This is not love, Marthe. After all, what could happen? He was looking at her very hard and earnestly. But he was a thief, a fugitive from justice. When first you left your home you had no idea that I was the hidden impulse. "Heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Wood. ” He retorted smartly, looking at her with mischief.
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