I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. ” Ennison dropped the evening paper which he had been pretending to read. . ” He replied. A paralyzing horror was upon her. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door.
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