At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. . ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound. Would there be enough in the young man's envelope to pay the doctor and the hotel bill—and in the event of his death, enough to ship the body home? So all things pointed to the happy circumstance of setting this young fool upon his feet again, of seeing him hence upon his journey. Yet, stay! There is one thing I wish you to do. ” She rose up. ‘So I shall do so. But I am not worthy to be any man's wife —far less his wife.
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