“Then you—you will?” A long pause. ‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. They sat down, McClintock reaching for a lump of sugar which he began munching. Within ten minutes he had read much more than had greeted his eye. “I will MAKE you love me! Until he has faded—faded into a memory. The eyes, too, though large and bright, and shaded by long lashes, seemed to betoken, as hazel eyes generally do in men, a faithless and uncertain disposition.
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