‘I must get a handkerchief. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill. A sacrifice. She came back with two women, one in each arm, which she threw down like sticks as she alit onto the stone causeway. One cannot expect that soldiers can be sympathique to one they believe may be a French spy. The little pucker in her brows became more perceptible. ‘Troops?’ ‘Go, man,’ urged the major in an undervoice. They are not bad girls, but the average tourist has that misconception of them. " And Blueskin withdrew. You take them. Then she uttered a strangled, ‘Espéce de bête!’ and burst into tears. Men do not understand constancy as women do. " "There, now! You mustn't get mixed.
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