"Damnation!" cried Kneebone. "Yes, now," rejoined the infuriated dame; "perhaps, I may never have another opportunity. I was his wife. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. CHAPTER II. He patted the hand on his sleeve. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford.
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