I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. “Mr. Poor Ben was not so fortunate. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. " "He had better bring half-a-dozen," said the Amazon, taking up a cloth-yard wand, and quietly seating herself; "one won't do. “Odd little room,” said Ann Veronica, dimly apprehending that obtrusive sofa. Take my advice.
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