"So I will," rejoined Shotbolt; "so I will. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. “My dear man,” she exclaimed, “wasn’t that a foregone conclusion?” “You treat the matter lightly,” he continued. Spurling, as if struck by a sudden idea. They give themselves airs, but so it is. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. “Want to see the computer?” He asked eagerly. Do you have a car?” She asked. "You mean you were just sorry for him?" "As I would be for any human being in pain.
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