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‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. " Miserably his thoughts shuttled to and fro in search of what he knew she wanted —a love story. ” It did begin to fall into place together. She told me the tale the other night, and I've only elaborated it. Please sit down, Miss —dear me, I haven’t asked you your name yet. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. “And you?” “Same thing. "I owe you nothing," he repeated, dully. And I am coming to believe the best as well as the most beautiful friends a man can have are girl friends. I’ll protect you!” He cried.
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