He walked her home. ” She replied. Did you really doubt if I knew?” “No. I’m a female thing at bottom. But you need not fear,’ she added, shaking him off. It’s these damned novels. She bathed frequently with ash and lye soap stolen from traders. This last operation was so fatiguing, that for a short time he was obliged to pause to recover the use of his fingers. So the talk went on, and presently they were criticising novelists, and certain daring essays of Wilkins got their due share of attention, and then they were discussing the future of the theatre.
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