"Why do you ask?" rejoined the other haughtily. “I doubted my luck, at least. On the other hand, there was a subconscious impression that she would be able to read instantly anything unclean in a man's eye. And so gentle as the poor creature is, when she's not in her wild fits—it would melt a heart of stone to see her. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. We, ourselves, are scarcely the same we were twelve years ago. The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night.
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