“You propose, then,” she remarked, “that I shall still be saddled with a pseudo husband. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. When next he asked for her, some twelve hours later, he was told that Mademoiselle had left. "There's Sharples," cried Quilt.
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