And yet—you millionaires should really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. "Very well," said Rachel, with a toss of her pretty head, "very well. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. I have no right to love you. " "Why, what the devil's this?" vociferated Jonathan, looking up.
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