"Here we part,—perhaps for ever. CHAPTER XXX. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. That was the glorious if bewildering truth. She veiled her emotion by taking off his overcoat. Women to me are something so serene, so fine, so feminine, and politics are so dusty, so sordid, so wearisome and quarrelsome. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest.
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