The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. Get on with it, then. “His dress for no man lays a snare; A man scores always, everywhere. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. ” John traced his finger over the meeting point of her breast and her ribcage as they lay naked on his unmade bed. So long as she stood beside him, he was safe.
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