“Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. ” “It was a mistake,” she faltered. For a pity, she has chosen to remain, and it has been her death. Modern, indeed! She was going to be as primordial as chipped flint. "I don't know. I am the cause of his ill-usage. ” “Out with it, then,” he cried, almost roughly. CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration.
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