It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. Meysey Hill—never your wife. "'Odd's! bodikins!" cried Jack, rubbing his cheek, "I'm in luck to-day. ‘You ain’t got nothing on me. Hill lost a little of his truculency. They went to the Zoological Gardens together one Saturday to see for themselves a point of morphological interest about the toucan’s bill—that friendly and entertaining bird—and they spent the rest of the afternoon walking about and elaborating in general terms this theme and the superiority of intellectual fellowship to all merely passionate relationships. I will do all this not because I love you, but—because you are Anna’s sister. Figg," said Jack.
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