"I thought it best that you should imagine him. ‘Don’t put me at the necessity of marrying the abominable little wretch. He laughed at her heartily, and she laughed too as she had not for a year. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. To-night we leave for Marseilles. " "Devil!" muttered Jack, again grasping his pistol. “What was that?” she asked sharply.
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