"Is it you?" "It is," replied her son, "Oh! why would you not listen to me?" "I was distracted," replied Mrs. \"May I come in?\" His bravado was increasing. “It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. She bought her Greyhound ticket one steamy afternoon when school let out at eleven thirty A.
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