His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. That Frenchie, that’s who she is. In the middle there was a gate. When I have traversed the streets a houseless wanderer, driven with curses from every door where I have solicited alms, and with blows from every gateway where I have sought shelter,—when I have crept into some deserted building, and stretched my wearied limbs upon a bulk, in the vain hope of repose,—or, worse than all, when, frenzied with want, I have yielded to horrible temptation, and earned a meal in the only way I could earn one,—when I have felt, at times like these, my heart sink within me, I have drank of this drink, and have at once forgotten my cares, my poverty, my guilt. It is one of God’s laws that a woman may defend her honour, even with the shedding of blood. Shari draped herself lazily upon her unmade bed. “Neither you nor I, Nigel, are made of such stuff,” she answered. “You are of the genus obstinate,” he said. It may be well, therefore, before proceeding farther, to describe it more minutely.
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