She felt flattered. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. " And he looked at the moment as if he had lost all desire to know it. The silence grew unbearable, so she asked, \"What is your surname, John?\" \"My surname? You mean my last name?\" \"Yes. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. "Aha! my lad!" he cried without appearing to regard the pain of the wound; "now I'll show you no quarter. It’s 180 endearing.
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