"Don't disturb yourself," said his follower, motioning him to keep still; "it's all right. I don’t want to influence you unduly—But—They’re artistic people, Vee. K-kimble, sir,’ stammered the lad. ‘Coward,’ she threw at him, brandishing the sword. "You play?" asked McClintock, who was sorting the rolls. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. Wanting his coat, when he must have known that the pockets were empty! But the effort to talk had cost him something.
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