In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. One cannot expect that soldiers can be sympathique to one they believe may be a French spy.
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