"When is he to suffer?" she demanded, fixing her large black eyes, which burnt with an insane gleam, upon him. He was completely, devastatingly handsome. CHAPTER XXIII. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. A crisis had been reached, and she was almost glad it had been reached. “It is not, of course, a pleasant subject of conversation for you or for me, yet I think I may venture to suggest to you that your sister’s—er—indiscretions—have reached a point which makes a separation between you almost a necessity. You want me to be clean.
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