I married—I married a woman whom I still think one of the most beautiful persons in the world. Her expression was a little changed, less innocent, more discerning. “And what on earth,” he said, “do you think the world is made of? Why do you think I have been doing things for you? The abstract pleasure of goodness? Are you one of the members of that great white sisterhood that takes and does not give? The good accepting woman! Do you really suppose a girl is entitled to live at free quarters on any man she meets without giving any return?” “I thought,” said Ann Veronica, “you were my friend. The elastic spirits of youth resumed their sway; and, before the coach stopped, his tears had ceased to flow. That is what they call these aristocratic refugees, the English. Luckily, she was bereft of consciousness, and was thus spared the additional misery of witnessing what afterwards befell him. "Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. ‘You are, I think, a gentleman, no?’ Gerald bowed.
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