On the same peg and evidently belonging to it was a black velvet Zouave jacket. Plote was sleeping or deaf. "You've won your wager. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. “Yes I did. ” He examined the emerald in his hands and placed it carefully on the glass table.
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