You belong to me, and I have waited long enough. “Well,” he said, argumentatively, “it IS. You'll find her at Black Mary's Hole. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. When I think of the love you give me—One ought to give you back love. But once he had steered the lady down the hall and along a passage to a window seat at the end, he abandoned the subject of society. Hadn’t the stomach to admit the truth, had he? I’ll lay any money he labelled you with some foul French name as well. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master.
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