“And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head. Why? Here was a curtain indeed. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. '—'Pretty well,' says I; 'you're not badly off at the Friars, for that matter.
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