He'd never forgive you. There was. ” They were lingering over their dessert. "I do," replied Jack, carelessly. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. She looked at the white ankle socks on her feet and was reminded simultaneously of her pajama outfit and the suitcase that still lay underneath the bed. " "Then you are hurt," cried the carpenter in alarm. But her heart kept on sinking. Playing became a way of escape.
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