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It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. Mr. " "I can't! I can't—not now!" "Bat!—can't you see that she's the kind who would understand and forgive? She loves you. " And she flung herself between them. Spare him! spare him!" "On one condition I will spare him," returned Wild; "on one condition only. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house.
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