She stared at him and thought the words, “My husband, my husband. " "Let me have them. ’ ‘Aye, more’s the pity. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. They walked side by side for a time. I owed his father a grudge: that I settled long ago. “He means nothing!” She whispered loudly. " "Surely, you haven't stolen it?" "Stolen's an awkward word. White, my landlady, believes his story. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend.
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