She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. As though it was indelicate—it’s just a sort of shyness. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. ‘Well, this maid,’ went on Kimble eagerly, ‘and me, we gets to talking, see, and that’s how I knew he were off to this party.
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