“A ballot-box, you know,” he said, “is very largely just a box. "So I think," replied Kneebone, again applying to the snuff-box, and by that means escaping the angry glance levelled at him by his companion. He looked up to see an ancient coach making its ponderous way down the street. Presently she became aware of footsteps hurrying after her, and glanced back to find Miss Klegg, a little out of breath, in pursuit. McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand. . It saved me the bother of being studied. “That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. There was something fatalistic about the letter H. There's our young friend upstairs.
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