"Will you plead?" demanded Wild, harshly. "You can render no further service to your poor mother. ‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue. Her teeth were chattering so hard that she had to clench them for fear of biting off her own tongue. He knew she would be there, practicing alone in 118. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again.
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