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I’m damaged goods. CHAPTER X. She had but to choose. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. F. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. Still silence everywhere. “You are absurd,” she declared. It was really very nice of you, but to-morrow you will laugh at it as I do now. Her heartbeat quickened. Consequences of the Theft. . ’ ‘But it’s my affair, Melusine. Burn your palette and your easel. I could not have spoken to her.
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