"May I beg to know whom I've the pleasure of adressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed name. I could see his little animal brain churning away, inventing plans for me, formulating his revenge. ‘Of course not,’ snapped his friend. “There’s endless reasons, no doubt, why we shouldn’t,” he said. The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you.
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