Then a servant girl brought in a telegram. "Oh God!" exclaimed Jack, in a tone of the bitterest anguish. What you’re after is too risky. She delighted in frustrating him. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame.
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