" "I've no intention of stirring," replied the woollen-draper, who was thus unceremoniously disturbed: "and I beg you'll sit down, Mr. " And, with a few magical touches, he stamped the fleeting expression on the canvass. I'll be wanting my sixteen thousand. You complain of a condition, but you leave the correction to someone else. Wood fared still worse. “You must remember,” she said, “that you yourself are responsible for your altered looks. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms.
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