There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. "That I can't say. What's this?" he added, stooping to pick up a piece of paper lying at his feet—it was Jonathan's memorandum. He crawled underneath the covers with her. But think of the disillusionment! Except for our sex we have minds like men, desires like men. Why do women take to lies and deceit and trickery as naturally as a duck to water?” “You are not alluding, I hope, to Miss Pellissier?” Ennison said stiffly.
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