"By my shalvation, boy," he added, fiercely, "if you don't take your hande off my peard, I'll sthrangle you. ” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. “Tell me his name,” he said, “and I promise that he shall never trouble you. Ah, if I had written that!" "Don't you want to live?" "I don't know; I really don't know. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour.
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