"Get ready your heaviest irons, Austin. ’ She bit her lip and thought deeply. "I can readily see," he said, "why you'll always be as poor as a church mouse. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. She was shifting, moving back. They knew they were all Bogey in disguise. And yet, she would be easy prey in her present state of mind to any plausible, attractive scoundrel. “I mean to go to that dance! I meant to reason with you, but you won’t reason. He came as an agreeable diversion from an insoluble perplexity.
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