It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. Why, there was drama in the very dress she wore! There was drama in the unusual beauty of her, hidden away all these years on a forgotten isle! "You've been lonely, too. I shall count it a privilege. ” With a little shrug of the shoulders Anna followed him. "What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass. Even if you pretend sometimes to be without sense. ‘Come, mademoiselle. ” “It is for your good—your good only I am thinking,” he declared.
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