Only sat, staring at him, a puzzled look in her face. The next morning came a compact letter from her father. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. My only excuse is that I missed my way here, and I am leaving Paris early to-morrow morning. . “Stay where you are for a moment,” she directed.
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