“Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. We have known men who have come here for no other purpose than to prove their unassailable virtue, who have strode into the arena of temptation, waving the—the what is it—the white flower of a blameless life, only to exchange it with marvellous facility for the violets of the Parisienne. "It is an ordinary wedding," he added; "some shopkeeper's daughter. "He's here. You have taken upon your shoulders the burden of her misdeeds. " So saying, she retired, and Jack entered the cell. .
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