Playing with one hand he turned on his stool to glance at her. Spurling, who did not dare to exhibit her satisfaction otherwise than by privately pinching the arm of her expected husband. I'll have no such toast drunk at my table!" "It's the king's birthday," urged the woollen draper. It occurred to her that it was absurd and wrong to be so continuously thinking of one engrossing topic, and she made a strenuous effort to force her mind to other questions. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child.
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