They took her fingerprints sitting at the gray metal desk of Officer Nolte, the virile young buck who had brought her in. He grunted, and his grip gave. F. He wore a French military undress of the period, with high jack-boots, and a laced hat; and, though his attire indicated no particular rank, he had completely the air of a person of distinction. “Tut, tut!” he said. His tone was kind and sympathetic. You do not love your husband, you have married him for a position —to escape from—things which you feared.
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