But I'll not believe it of you. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. You are nothing of the sort. The bridesmaids and pages got rather jumbled in the aisle, and she had an effect of Alice’s white back and sloping shoulders and veiled head receding toward the altar. He no longer made love to her, as there was no point.
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