I haven't much money; I don't know how much it is going to cost me to reach Hartford; so I fixed over a couple of my mother's dresses. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. Naturally you shout yourself hoarse when she has finished, and feel jolly pleased with yourself. " "I'll bet she still smells to heaven with sour coconut. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. Reverse psychology or something, it’s like she was trying to draw him nearer by pushing him away.
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