He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you. “Come with me. But don't suppose, Madam, that anything I say has reference to you.
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