I am a man—of a sort of experience. Then he went back to his rooms and lit a cigar. "Heaven help us!" he exclaimed; "we were mad to neglect the old sailor's advice. “Lucy, do you forgive me?” She looked at him in earnest. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. I do not wish to return to Paris. No one would ever know what happened to him.
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