"I know you'll not deceive me. “What made you think” he said, abruptly, with the gleam of avidity in his face, “that love makes people happy?” “I know it must. ‘Mademoiselle. Do you know, Annabel, that you are my wife. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced.
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