Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. Could she go through with it? She must. Her scream shook the windows of the sedan. “Fuck you, Julian Rimbauer. Only I wish—I wish to-day I was a thousand times, ten thousand times more beautiful. I don’t want you to be sad. Earles remarked genially. ‘What’s more, I wouldn’t blame her. She rolled to one side. You cannot care for her. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. Women and men had always flocked to him, covetous of his knowledge, his riches, and if all else failed, his carnal expertise.
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