"That man should have been an Italian bravo," murmured the knight, sinking into a chair: "he has neither fear nor compunction. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish. They are more base then the animals and cannot be suffered to live, do you understand?” She nodded. “Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then—Paris is Paris. Chapter XVI THE DISCOMFITURE OF SIR JOHN Sir John looked from one to the other of the two sisters.
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