But you belong to me—and I want you. What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice. In vain did the woollendraper offer to set him free if he would restore the stolen article, or give up his associate, to whom it was supposed he might have handed it. I just don’t know where to start. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. This time they would call it murder. That capitaine has arranged it all. "I have never been out of this horrible dungeon since we last met," he said; "though how long ago that is, I scarcely know. Enschede halted. I have established a fine trade.
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