For a long time he stared at the empty doorway. “Besides, it is not so. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. The next minute, I contrived, without either of 'em perceiving me, to convey it into my own pocket. ‘Don’t lose your temper again. “But perhaps I want to confess them. Wood wound it up by a description of the drenching he had undergone at the Mint pump, the other could hold out no longer, but, leaning back in his chair, gave free scope to his merriment.
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