“Concern me!” she repeated fiercely. ” She looked at him with fluttering eyelids—sweetly grateful. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. "Ah! Quilt Arnold, my man, is it you? By the powers! I'm glad to see you.
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