For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. He really deserves a better fate, does he not? He is so beautifully persistent. ‘Would you care for some refreshment? A glass of wine, perhaps?’ ‘Nothing, merci, I do not remain,’ she answered, although she did not rise. "Vat ish it, Mishter Vild?" inquired Mendez. " "Ay, and there's my liver. “He’s got almost to like it. But the wench who tricked me shall bitterly repent it.
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