’ ‘And was not she put out?’ demanded Miss Froxfield with a tinkling laugh. —'We'll do it,' said they, filling their glasses, and looking as fierce as King George's grenadier guards; 'here's your health, Mint. But that, and that sort of thing, is just a day-dream. It was now a quarter past twelve. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. Something to tell you.
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