"What's the good, Mazarine? Why
don't you say, 'Go and sin no more?' Or why don't you divorce her with
the evidence about that night on the prairie? I could have got you a
verdict and damages. Yes, I could have got you plenty of damages. He's
rich. You took her back and condoned; you condoned, Mazarine, and now
you'll neither have damages nor wife--and the express goes in thirty
minutes!"
"The express won't take Mrs. Mazarine away tonight," the old man said, a
look of jungle fierceness filling his face.
Burlingame laughed unpleasantly. "Yes, you'll foul your own nest,
Mazarine, and then bring her back to live in it. I know you. It isn't
the love of God in your heart, because you'll never forgive her; but
you'll bring her back to the nest you fouled, just because you want her
--'You damned and luxurious mountain goat,' as Shakespeare called your
kind."
With another laugh, which somewhat resembled that of the two strange
vanished Chinamen, Burlingame flicked his horse and cantered away.
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