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"And there you're right, you may dipind, marm," observed Terence. " "Never," echoed Smith, emphatically, "upon my honour. “I believe,” he said, “that you mean me to be Prime Minister. Then came the cable that you were in Canton, ill, but not dangerously so. Who's the lucky boy, Lucy?\" Lucy looked at her slippered feet. He was halfway across the ballroom, where the dancing had ceased for the musicians to take a well-earned rest, when Roding pounced on him. “Oh, Lord!” she said, discovering what she was up to, and dropped lightly from the fence upon the turf and went on her way toward the crest. She began to weep in long, aching sobs. “I wonder would you mind seeing who it is.
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