"Halloa, widow!" shouted a rough voice from below, "where the devil are you?" Mrs. I'd have got something nice. "Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. ‘Pray you, mademoiselle, can you not—’ ‘No use trying to enlist Lucilla’s aid,’ snapped Roding.
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