"Must you really go, Geoffrey?—really?" asks Mona, miserably, looking the very personification of despair. She has asked the same question in the same tone ever since early dawn, and it is now four o'clock.
dear-mission-number-today, "Are you a man, to make me such a speech?" she says, passionately, fixing her eyes upon him with withering contempt.
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dear-mission-number-today
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dear-mission-number-today "If ever you should be sorry afterwards," she says, miserably, still tormenting herself with unseen evils,—"if ever I should see discontent in your eyes, how would it be with me then?".
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