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"I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. ‘And I am very glad you did this bad thing, because if not, who would take care of me?’ Martha shook her head, and Melusine spied wetness again in her eyes, although they met hers bravely. “I believe that he would bore me. That would be an unkind twist of fate. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. This structure at once satisfied him as to where he stood. That’s all. But beyond "amicable agreement in which mutual concessions are made," the word "compromise" was as blank as the Canton wall at night. He stopped before her suddenly.
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