He wisely refrained from questioning the manager of the Victoria. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. We needn’t try and give ourselves airs. He would know the truth then once and for all. “Eight pounds,” she plunged, and added foolishly, “fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything. CHAPTER VII.
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