"Well, it's a good story. dear. For she needed him. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. Suppose—suppose a girl did want to start in life, start in life for herself—” She looked him frankly in the eyes. He wore a silk hat a little tilted, and a morning coat buttoned round a tight, contained figure; and a white slip gave a finish to his costume and endorsed the quiet distinction of his tie. He's a Welshman, and I wouldn't for a trifle that any accident befel him.
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