" "Your secret?" demanded Trenchard, impatiently. "And someday let him care for me!" She sprang up, alarmed. ” Chapter XIX “THIS IS NOT THE END” “I said some afternoon,” she remarked, throwing open her warm coat, and taking off her gloves, “but I certainly did not mean to-day. I’m damaged goods. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. Of the women felons' rooms nothing has yet been said.
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