“I’ve been through all that,” she went on, after a pause. "Don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the farthest corner of the cell. ‘Did I say so? When last heard from you were claiming some good English name. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. How can I tell you all I feel? I love you beyond measure. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. Then began expostulations, preluded by a telegram and headed by her aunt. CHAPTER XV.
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