"Come here," said the petticoated tyrant. "Now—begin. ‘Not kill me, I mean. The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. Quite!” He sat in the arm-chair and took tea, and consumed several of the extra cakes which she had sent out for and talked to her and expressed himself, looking very earnestly at her with his deep-set eyes, and carefully avoiding any crumbs on his mustache the while. Presently he heard her voice. " "Couldn't … couldn't I go with you this afternoon?" "Too hot. Mrs. She could feel her face turning beet red.
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