He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. “Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation,” she said, smiling. It might be that the boy had taken one drink too many, or someone had given him knock-out drops.
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