“I’ve got—I have to tell you this to make myself clear—a streak of ardent animal in my composition. " "I can at least, protect myself," replied Wild, with, provoking calmness. "Ruth?" he called. I love the soles of your feet. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint.
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