“We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. I trust that no unpleasant rumours will be circulated before the election, at any rate. Halloa, Ben!" cried he, shaking a broad-backed fellow, equipped in a short-skirted doublet, and having a badge upon his arm,—"scullers wanted. His face turned a dark crimson. Nobody regards Constance or Vee as a delicate trifle.
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