“The conventions do not matter one little bit. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. But I'm resolved to see Lady Trafford. CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. You fell in at once with her quixotic and damnable scheme of foisting her reputation and her follies upon your shoulders whilst she marries a rich man and commences all over again a life of selfish pleasure.
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