But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago. ‘It is not for myself, you understand,’ pursued the man, in an unctuous tone that sickened the general, ‘but for this poor one. I'll watch over these infants, if that's your worry. She wondered why he was so distinctive, so unlike other men, and it never occurred to her for some time that this might be because she was falling in love with him. She asked no further questions for the moment. "In wine there is truth. I’m making a mess of my life— unless you come in and take it. Still, one has to be reasonable. "And someday let him care for me!" She sprang up, alarmed. But if he speaks—I fear what he may tell.
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