She had been defrauded out of her
childish inheritance of innocence, but, somehow, even in her foul
environment the seeds of a rare personal purity had persistently
sprung up and flourished. Some flowers are of such native
freshness that no nauseous surroundings can kill their fragrance.
And this was one of them.
Meanwhile, her voice ran on with the patter of her craft. There
was the usual dark woman to be circumvented and the light one to
be rewarded. Jealousies and rivalries played their part in the
nonsense she glibly recited, and somewhere in the future lay, of
course, great riches and happiness for him.
With a queer little tug at his heart he watched the dainty finger
that ran so lightly over his open palm, watched, too, the bent
head so gracefully fine of outline and the face so mobile of
expression when the deep eyes lifted to his in question of the
correctness of her reading. He would miss the little partner that
had wound himself so tightly round his heart. He wondered if he
would find compensating joy in this exquisite creature whom a few
moments had taken worlds distant from him.
Suddenly tiring of her diversion, she dropped his hand.
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