It is her duty to tell me, and I would not have her think that I had been trying to work upon your sympathies to learn her secrets. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself: habit, a twice-told tale. "Always plenty to spare.
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