‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too. “By Jove!” he broke out, “one tries to take a serious, sober view. I—In fact, I dislike him extremely. Death belongs to God, young man. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish. But we've got to cook up some kind of a story to protect her.
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