She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. He seemed to stay away from her because she was so cold and formal towards him, addressing him as Mister McCloskey as if she were an Irish maid. , or that she had a care in the world. Go to her, I say, and take her in your arms, you poor benighted Ironsides! I can't make you see. ’ ‘Damnation!’ ‘What the devil ails you?’ demanded his friend, striding forward. Wild allowed you to have your fine clothes again, or you might have been taken in a still more disgraceful garb. Love…. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. “Thank you.
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