Aha!" he continued, producing a short silver staff, which he carried constantly about with him, and uttering a terrible imprecation, "I see you're confounded. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. His smile faded. Spurling, half aside. “John,” she declared, “I must eat or die. Imbecile.
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