The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. You will wonder why he did not hold the pearls until Father returned. We have known men who have come here for no other purpose than to prove their unassailable virtue, who have strode into the arena of temptation, waving the—the what is it—the white flower of a blameless life, only to exchange it with marvellous facility for the violets of the Parisienne. Mr. Well, he was executed for murder.
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