“My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. After the usual laconic greetings, he drew him on one side. For a long time there had been a standing offer from the company at Copeley's to take over the McClintock plantation; and today he had decided to sell. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. Eh bien, they would see about this. His face was downcast. The smell that emanated from the opening was abominable. At least, I frustrated her design in calling upon him this morning. He barely shook the rose petals from her hair. I don't threaten idly, as you know. Get nothing out of me. Courtlaw, Mr.
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