\" He mumbled, his eyes on her breasts. “It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy. “Well,” he said at last slowly, “I’ll pay it. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. “One hardly knows—all the time. "That's your hunting ground," said the doctor.
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