With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. Kneebone's 346 XIV. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. There's something queer about that young man; but we'll never be able to find out what it is. But such is the perversity of the human that frequently thereafter he purposely crooked the part in his hair, to give her the excuse to fetch the comb.
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