“You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. When she arrived at the Palazzo, not a single sentry was aware of her presence. "'And thine eye shall not pity,'" said her father, in a tone of rebuke, "'but, life shall be for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot. She thought of her aunt and that purse that was dropped on the table, and of many troublesome and ill-requited kindnesses; she thought of the help of the Widgetts, of Teddy’s admiration; she thought, with a new-born charity, of her father, of Manning’s conscientious unselfishness, of Miss Miniver’s devotion. " "Of course—of course," returned Wood, hastily; "anything's better than that.
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