“I have a letter for him from his brother, which I was just leaving. "What ho!" he cried slapping Smith, who had fallen asleep with the brandybottle in his grasp, upon the shoulder. All this Woman-who-Diddery —no damn good. Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. His room was last at the end of one winding corner.
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