A beachcomber in embryo, and she had lent a hand through habit as much as through pity. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. Twice he cleaned the old briar; still there was no improvement. He buys his own clothes, chooses his own company, makes his own way of living. . She helped him take it off.
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