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Perceiving that his friend was alone, Falkner dropped his burden in
the hall and strode rapidly to his side. "Look here, George, we
must, I must leave this place at once. It's no use talking; I can
stand this sort of thing no longer."
"Nor can I, with the door open. Shut it, and say what you want
quick, before Mrs. Hale comes back. Have you found a trail?"
"No, no; that's not what I mean."
"Well, it strikes me it ought to be, if you expect to get away.
Have you proposed to Beacon Street, and she thinks it rather
premature on a week's acquaintance?"
"No; but--"
"But you WILL, you mean? DON'T, just yet."
"But I cannot live this perpetual lie."
"That depends. I don't know HOW you're lying when I'm not with
you. If you're walking round with that girl, singing hymns and
talking of your class in Sunday-school, or if you're insinuating
that you're a millionaire, and think of buying the place for a
summer hotel, I should say you'd better quit that kind of lying.
But, on the other hand, I don't see the necessity of your dancing
round here with a shot gun, and yelling for Harkins's blood, or
counting that package of greenbacks in the lap of Miss Scott, to be
truthful. It seems to me there ought to be something between the
two."
"But, George, don't you think--you are on such good terms with Mrs.
Hale and her mother--that you might tell them the whole story?
That is, tell it in your own way; they will hear anything from you,
and believe it."
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