Her efforts were vain. She was perfectly aware that the boy had gotten some sort of bug in his craw over her despite her sloppy, strange appearance. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. Wood. "I am innocent. If you were ten years younger, you'd have me wondering. Let him be sure. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. Still —there you are!” He paused. In the second, she was wretchedly poor, and assailed by temptations of which you can form no idea. You are in danger. Now you can understand why I have been obliged to——” “Yes, yes, I understand that,” Courtlaw interrupted.
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