But he knew. “Do you want to ruin me? I shall walk back. ” “And yet,” he murmured, “one of the greatest of our writers has declared that the true spirit of Bohemianism is denied to your sex. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. Amidst it all, however, there were several light-hearted and laughing groups walking from cell to cell to whom all this misery appeared matter of amusement. I couldn’t help the thought.
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