Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. CHAPTER XVI. “I suppose some one makes a bit on the food,” she said. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. “Please go and see that—nothing happens,” she pleaded. “I am going,” he said, “to be impertinent.
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