She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. I thank God for the beauty you love and the faults you love. Not much. She stood there with white set face and nervously clenched fingers. Shortly afterwards,—it seemed an age to the anxious mother,—Mr. " "Faithful fellow!" murmured Jack. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. Well, it's scarcely credible. She wanted to cry out upon herself for the uttermost fool in existence. If, when he returned, he blew out the light, she would go to bed; but if the light burned on for any length of time, she would go silently to the study curtain to learn if his agony was still upon him. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply.
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