Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. They had much to talk about, or rather Miss Prudence had. If any of you—or all of you feel the same in six months’ time from to-day, will you come, if you care to, and see me then?” There was a brief silence.
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