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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"A Ward of the Golden Gate"

You can
pass the time pleasantly by finishing the story I was obliged to
interrupt a moment ago. Do you know this mother of Miss Yerba, of
whom you spoke?"
"That's m--my affair."
"That means you don't know her. If you did, you'd have had her
within call. And, as she is the only person who is able to say
that Miss Yerba is NOT an Arguello, you have been very remiss."
"Ah, bah! I am not one of your--a--lawyers."
"No; or you would know that, with no better evidence than you have,
you might be sued for slander."
"Ah! Why does not Miss Yerba sue, then?"
"Because she probably expects that somebody will shoot you."
"As YOU for instance?"
"Perhaps."
"And if you do NOT--eh?--you have not stop my mouth, but your own.
And if you DO, you help her to marry the Baron, your rival. You
are not wise, friend Hathaway."
"May I remind you that you have not yet written to your sister, and
you may prefer to do it carefully and deliberately?"
Don Caesar arose with a vindictive glance at Paul, and pulled a
chair before the table, as the latter placed pen, ink, and paper
before him. "Take your time," he added, folding his arms and
walking towards the window. "Say what you like, and don't let my
presence restrain you.


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