At the bottom of the trunk was a large manila envelope, unmarked. CHAPTER II. And yet—you millionaires should really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. It makes me desire life beyond measure. He was safe, out of the beaten track, at last really comparable to the needle in the haystack. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. I don’t wish to marry you at all.
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