" "God help me, what a muddle!" The cigar crumbled in Spurlock's hand. "Ay, good luck to him! so we have," rejoined Terence; "but we've no objection to take out the dochter's bill in drink. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid.
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