You must forgive the poet’s license I take. ’ She turned, her eyes narrowed. “I’m not coarse—no! But I’ve got no purity of mind—no real purity of mind. But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine. Now we meet again, and you will scarcely look at me. " As he said this, in a low and mournful, but firm voice, the tears gathered thickly in Winifred's dark eyelashes. "Here is my purse; and I trust you will let me know to whom I am indebted for this important service. ” He did not appear to require any answer to his question.
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