Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. Lives by his wits and gambling. You are the woman I love, Anna. You are a girl with very little.
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