” He said. " "Wretch!" cried Mrs. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. I like high tone for a flourish and stars and ideas; but I want my things. Her husband was prouder of her every day. Come, make yourself scarce. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away.
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