The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. " And, as he spoke, he took up a sheet of paper, and hastily traced a few lines upon it. And what did she do? Not only did she cut his hand in her rage, but she refused to let him help her, and then she ran away from him. “I don’t think our engagement can go on,” she plunged, and felt exactly that loss of breath that comes with a dive into icy water. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. I’m a desperate young woman. I ought to be able to think things out. You were dying and your baby along with you. ’ As a matter of fact, I am not.
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