In this moment he could have stamped upon the Wastrel's face, and ended the affair; but all that was clean in him, chivalrous, revolted at the thought. ” He would say every time she wore it. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. I'll think no more about her.
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