And yet, she would be easy prey in her present state of mind to any plausible, attractive scoundrel. There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea. As in all things, so his thoughts came to him deliberately. "I fear we're too late," he whispered to Thames. Miss Garvice repeated again, and almost in the same words she used at every discussion, her contribution to the great question. Apparently she was always doomed to weep when she talked to her father. Better to remain silent.
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