She had gone into Morgan's one afternoon for a bag of salt. Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. “You vixen!” said Mr. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. It is the health of a stranger,—of Mr. " "Could I credit your wild story, I might do so," returned Thames, with a look of perplexity. That night in his den he smoked many pipes.
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