It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal. . . “Of course,” he ventured, “I could try for more at the ‘Alhambra. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed.
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