"Let me go first," said Blueskin; "the dogs know me. Too damned chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman. Such ambitions as he had were stereotyped and material. She walked straight across to the wardrobe and opened it. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. It is but a wild threat. We tolerate you for your genius, that's a fact.
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