"Because you did not wish to hurt me?" "Yes. The stranger looked at him as if strongly disposed to chastise his impertinence. She always dawdled, so it was easy. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. "Heaven be praised, I am not the son of a nobleman. "'T is he!" he mentally ejaculated. The parlour was cluttered but cosy. Instead, they lived a Bohemian existence, moving from patron to patron, city to city.
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