But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. I don’t wish to marry you at all. ” The detective thrust his notebook into his pocket. Looking for something, or someone, probably. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. Even though I knew you’d no one else to care. Clearing the recess the instant after his companion, he flew to the door of the inner room, and, locking it, took out the key. "I think I may trust him with you, Sir," added she, taking up the candle. "I do," replied Jack, carelessly. ‘You’re either mad, or in love.
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