And yet she knew it was not fair to call her a foolish girl. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground. As a rule their comings and goings were discussed with perfect confidence, but on this occasion they both felt that there was intent in her silence as to her destination. “I’ve got—I have to tell you this to make myself clear—a streak of ardent animal in my composition. My death, probably. .
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