Drummond patted him on the shoulder. “Perhaps for myself I do not mind, but this man is sure to find out some day, and he will not like having been deceived. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. As the woollendraper's back was towards him, he did not perceive him, but continued his passionate addresses.
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