“You must remember,” she said, “that you yourself are responsible for your altered looks. " "Is this true, Sir?" cried Mrs. She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. " "Nothing," echoed Wood furiously. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. I suppose that’s the gist of the whole thing. " "Oh! goodness!" ejaculated the tapstress, in alarm.
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