CHAPTER XXIII. In a very definite sense we are in the wrong —hopelessly in the wrong. It was the first—and the last! At this juncture, the handle of the door was tried, and the voice of Mr. I thank God for the beauty you love and the faults you love. To-night she could have hugged both the old maids. ’ ‘That’s just it,’ said Joan Ibstock shamefacedly. The risk I run is nothing to yours.
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