" "How so?" asked the other, distrustfully. The farmer had become obsessed with her and asked her to marry. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. "When a man reaches the lowest scale through drink, we call him a beachcomber. You desert your home; I throw up useful teaching, risk every hope in your career. But Miss Mary and me—’ Melusine looked up as the woman broke off again. “I love you, Anna, and I want you for my wife.
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