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Reade, Charles, 1814-1884

"White Lies"

HE WILL HAVE
IT ALL HIS OWN WAY NOW. But perhaps it is best. Were I to stay here, I
foresee you would soon lose whatever friendly feeling you have for me."
"Am I so changeable? I am not considered so," remonstrated Rose, gently.
Riviere explained; "I am not vain," said he, with that self-knowledge
which is so general an attribute of human beings; "no man less so, nor
am I jealous; but I respect myself, and I could never be content to
share your time and your regard with Colonel Dujardin, nor with a much
better man. See now; he has made me arrogant. Was I ever so before?"
"No! no! no! and I forgive you now, my poor Edouard."
"He has made you cold as ice to me."
"No! that was my own wickedness and spitefulness."
"Wickedness, spitefulness! they are not in your nature. It is all that
wretch's doing."
Rose sighed, but she said nothing; for she saw that to excuse Camille
would only make the jealous one more bitter against him.
"Will you deign to write to me at my new post? once a month? in answer
to my letters?"
"Yes, dear. But you will ride over sometimes to see us.


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