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I need hardly say that your aunt joins with me very heartily in this request. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. "Iss, Massa. “You say you want a vote,” said Mr. ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. You know you do, Annabel. A dry cough's the trumpeter of death. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company.
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