“Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. “Look here,” he said, “I brought you here to make love to you. I don’t think you understand. "Stow it, Nab!" exclaimed Quilt, angrily; "the kinchen's awake. Taber did not leave all his money in the office. But I've stacks of books and a grand piano-player. That's how I finally got wind of it. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness. About many of these houses hung a mysterious taint as of something weakly and commonly and dustily evil; the women who negotiated the rooms looked out through a friendly manner as though it was a mask, with hard, defiant eyes.
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