Not I. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. “Tell me,” she insisted, “why you look like that. He was a bad dog; he knew it perfectly; but where there was laughter, there was hope. She felt that she had passed a difficult corner, and that now she could go on talking with him again, just as she had been used to do before she understood what was the matter with her.
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