"It's runnin' a great risk. " There had never been, from that fatal hour eight months gone down to this, the inclination to confess. This smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid look. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. Well, this is OUR thing. The inn was a military haunt. 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. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming.
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