“I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. “Come, we must go home and have some luncheon. ‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me. " "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. It was drafty and cold most of the time, but she found that she was not nearly as sensitive to the cold as long as he was 99 there to warm her up. Told you how it would be.
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