We needn’t try and give ourselves airs. But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same. Oh, you must believe me. Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. Do I, Bess, eh?" "Nobody whatever, love," replied Edgeworth Bess; "nobody but me, dear. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. The atmosphere seemed heavy with the odour of drugs. He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind.
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