Well, my dear, it is time you stopped wallowing in your sorrows like a common wretch. We could have secured you when you left the Mint. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. Don't ask any more questions. .
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