‘Bête. All this muddle to placate his conscience! "Here—quick!" McClintock thrust a cigar into Spurlock's hand. He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me. "I say," retorted Edgeworth Bess, with a very unfeminine imprecation, "I shan't stand any more of that nonsense. He stood up and she ushered him out of the small room.
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