CHAPTER XV. "Leave me, Sir; I insist. ” “I say,” she reflected, “you ARE rather the master, you know. And then you go—and half throttle me. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. She was to see Capes to-morrow, but now, in this state of misery she had achieved, she felt assured he would turn his back upon her, take no notice of her at all.
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