Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion. Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. Gosse had hidden himself successfully then. " "I'm not afraid, mother," said the little girl, smelling at the bouquet. . “Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation,” she said, smiling.
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