I know how you feel. You've had your face
turned his way, and you can't look elsewhere all at once. But Time cures
quick, if you're a good healthy human being. Ingolby was the kind likely
to draw a girl. He's a six-footer and over; he spangled a lot, and he
smiled pretty--comme le printemps, and was sharp enough to keep clear of
women that could hurt him. That was his strongest point after all, for a
little, sly sprat of a woman that's made eyes at you and led you on, till
you sent her a note in a hurry some time with some loose hot words in it,
and she got what she'd wanted, will make you pay a hundred times for the
goods you get. Ingolby was sharp enough to walk shy, until you came his
way, and then he lost his underpinning. But last night got him in the
vitals--hit him between the eyes; and his stock's not worth ten cents in
the dollar to-day. But though the pumas are out, and he's done, and'll
never see his way out of the hole he's in"--he laughed at his grisly
joke"--it's natural to let him down easy. You've looked his way; he did
you a good turn at the Carillon Rapids, and you'd do one for him if you
could. I'm the only one can stop the worst from happening.
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