She was marvellously pretty, but he was not quite sure—yet—that it was advisable for him to sit with her in so public a place. " "That's not my game. " He departed, musing. He saw the tragedy on the boy's face; but he was merciless. He knew that he could translate literally. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. Sometimes these dreams are simple and tender; sometimes they are magnificent. Gerald smiled and excused himself with the Poussaint girl, whose mouth pinched together as she threw a dagger glance at the voluptuous Madame Valade. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware.
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