It is dull—deadly dull. The lady looked them over in silence, and then pouting lips trembled, dark eyelashes fluttered, and in a broken voice, she pleaded, ‘Honoured messieurs, you will not allow this—this pig, to be thus cruel? He cannot arrest me. “It’s the spring,” he said. Hadn’t the stomach to admit the truth, had he? I’ll lay any money he labelled you with some foul French name as well.
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