In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. He succeeded so well that by the time he asked for her name once more, she fluttered her lashes as coquettishly as ever. The lady reseated herself, watching him expectantly. She attacked his hair resolutely. Wood in a sharp tone. Mere formality. "Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack.
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