But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. Nevertheless there came a residuum of expostulations. "He was hanged that left his drink behind, you know, master," rejoined Sheppard. “It’s precious unromantic.
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