“I wonder how it is,” she exclaimed, “that my friends have so much more confidence in me than I have in myself. How I wish I might meet this delightful mystery lady of yours. ” “Let us say that Café Maston, in the Boulevard des Italiennes, at half-past seven then,” he decided. The young man desperately ill and the girl taking care of him! Of course, there could be only one ending to such a bout with liquor, and that ending had come perhaps suddenly but not surprisingly. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. .
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