“I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. There was no rush. To Capes he was almost deferential, and she had never seen him deferential in the old time, never. “Touch a hair on his head and you will insure that I will never make love to you again. Back, that you may be close together. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury.
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