The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. He sounds to me like a soldier of fortune. You should have more. To witness this girl sewing on a loose button, flopping the coat about on her knees, tickled his ironic sense of humour; and laughter bubbled into his throat. You shall know the truth. But she had loved the man. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. .
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