I still have a cross stitch she made for me of a little fairy sitting on a daffodil. All at once her heart began to patter queerly. Besides, I would tear out my tongue rather than let it speak her mother's infamy. I don't care how lonesome it is. CHAPTER XXVII His idea, cleverly planned, was to shatter her resistance, to confound her suddenly by striking her mind with words which would rob her coherent thought.
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