She knew now that he never would. "Let me have a word with the cull!" "Ay! ay!" cried several of the bystanders, "let Jonathan kimbaw the cove. I don’t want to influence you unduly—But—They’re artistic people, Vee. Already she had sent him twenty pounds, and never written to explain to him why it was she had not sent it back sharply directly he returned it. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. "What?—help take care of him? Why, you can't do that, Miss Enschede!" was the protest.
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