A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. The doctor drew out the contents hopefully. "I haven't offended you?"—not contritely but curiously. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. She laughed nervously, but kept her eyes averted. "You know what I mean," said the trader, gravely. . If he dies she is safe. ‘You have not the right.
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