He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. " He did not pause to consider how she had learned that he had imagination; he comprehended only the direct challenge. He had meant to come at his business in a roundabout way, but for that little slip. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader.
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