“Perhaps for myself I do not mind, but this man is sure to find out some day, and he will not like having been deceived. ” She stopped buttoning her glove, and looked at him. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother.
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