"Let him remain," interposed Trenchard. She ran her gaze over him, and allowed her eyelashes to flutter down. “He is evidently a friend of Mrs. “YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly. They were things I had meant very much to talk to you about, so that I went home vexed and disappointed, and only relieved myself a little by writing a few verses. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. He lost control of the machine. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand.
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