’ ‘Don’t be too sure,’ said Miss Froxfield darkly, with a mischievous glance at her betrothed. He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. ” He greeted her. You certainly had to hand it to these Chinks.
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