"Let me see," replied Wood; "exactly twelve years ago last November. "Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. " Romance! The Seven Seas are hers. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. “Why not?” he exclaimed.
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