" "But Wild still lives," cried Wood. With a gesture which was without any kind of emotional expression, the manager indicated the silent crumpled figure on the floor and gave the room number. The next morning came a compact letter from her father. It's infernally provoking. "I'm afraid we'll have to dig into his trunk," he said. “You propose, then,” she remarked, “that I shall still be saddled with a pseudo husband. There are way-stations—even terminals.
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