“There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. " "How did he take it?" "He did not seem to care. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. ” He sidled toward her, but she recoiled from him, leaving him in possession of the hearth-rug.
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