I say, I'll take the yarn over and read it to McClintock. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. Manning, I do not think I love you. Barleycorn had sent to the mat for the count of nine: unless the young fool's daddy had a bundle of coin.
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