It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. “Then why the devil,” he demanded, “do you let me stand you dinners and the opera—and why do you come to a cabinet particuliar with me?” He became radiant with anger. She was alone with a deadly enemy. He had found her by the same agency her father had: native talk, which flew from isle to isle as fast as proas could carry it.
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