“You ARE a female thing at bottom,” he admitted. “Where am I?” he muttered. I barely prevailed sometimes, but in the end, my wits were faster than their steel. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. "But to the point," continued Wild, unconscious of the peril in which the remark had placed him,—"to the point. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be.
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