"Your answer, gem'men?" demanded Sharples. “My wife refused absolutely to have anything more to do with me. She got out of bed, her eyes still half-closed, and stood slack jawed. “That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. “It really seems as if we shall have to put down marigolds altogether next year,” Aunt Molly repeated three times, “and do away with marguerites. ” Mr. The hansom drove off.
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