" CHAPTER XI. “His stipend forbade it,” she said, and seemed to fall into a train of thought. *** Madame la Comtesse de St Erme regarded the English major with a lacklustre eye, Gerald thought. But you must tell her. I was his wife. I don’t see any good in life if it hasn’t got you in it. ” “Why did you tell me? I thought—I thought we were going to be friends. She entered and approached the bunk. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. You complain of a condition, but you leave the correction to someone else.
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