” Drummond shook his head in melancholy fashion. "Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. But I don't understand her; she's over my head. ” She said and began to pace the hard dirt. ” The redness in his face betrayed him. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her.
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