She perceived she had never really thought of any one but herself in all her acts and plans. "The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. ‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless. Voilà tout. I should as soon think of trusting a woman. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward.
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