"And there you're right, you may dipind, marm," observed Terence. ’ ‘Unless it is Captain Roding,’ put in Lucilla Froxfield from the curved back sofa on the other side of the fireplace. His chin was angular and his lips were 16 small, his mouth tiny and refined. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. Upon my word, Anna,” she declared, with a strange little laugh, “you are a thousand times more like me as I was two months ago than I am myself.
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