In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. “And where are YOU going?” he said. ‘Espéce de diable,’ she screamed. People were passing in the street below. Wood will be here presently. “Why did you lie to that man?” he asked fiercely.
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