" "Can I trust him?" mused Jack. When the word “FREAK” appeared scratched in the persimmon colored paint on her locker, she knew that in some fragile young woman’s mind a war had escalated from imaginary to physical. “No thanks. " "By no means," rejoined Wood, hastily. He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. At the first glance, he imagined he must have stumbled upon a museum of rarities, there were so many glass-cases, so many open cabinets, ranged against the walls; but the next convinced him that if Jonathan was a virtuoso, his tastes did not run in the ordinary channels. "Not exactly," answered Jonathan, drily. For a long time even the strong pipe tobacco (with which McClintock supplied him) possessed a coconut flavour. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself.
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