A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. She did not think for one moment what interpretation he might put upon the word “lover. "I don't deserve it," he said, at length; "but I would have risked a thousand deaths to enjoy this moment's happiness. A shudder rippled across his shoulders. Across the blackboard the colored chalks flew like flights of variously tinted rockets as diagram after diagram flickered into being. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care.
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