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"Not the sort of stories young ladies should read. “Don’t let them know I’m here. So am I. “That is very nice of you,” she said. ” He retorted smartly, looking at her with mischief. "What the devil makes you out so late? And what has happened to you, man, eh?—you seem in a queer plight. You must let me take you to things—to meetings and things, to conferences and talks. " "Not a farthing more, I assure you," rejoined Ireton, pettishly; "we're all on the square here. Then he hovered undecidedly for some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue. But his own ferocity was less now that she was disarmed. Funk! I’ll see it out. He lives near the Black Lion. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester.
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