Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. "If any one's to blame, it's me. And Rollo, who had been waiting for some encouraging sound, presented himself at the doorway. I loved her beyond anything in heaven or on earth—to idolatry. "Where is he, then?" demanded the other, hastily. He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me. “They might do you good,” she remarked.
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