That Mr. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. " "Unpossible, master," rejoined Ben; "the tide's running down like a mill-sluice, and the wind's right in our teeth. ‘You would like? And do you imagine that I will tell you?’ ‘Won’t you?’ ‘No, a thousand times. “I was watching you at Morningside Park, dear,” said Miss Miniver.
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