He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation. "Not a syllable," replied Wild. You get one, you get them all. ’ He moved to his friend and grasped his hand in a gesture as deliberately dramatic as the storytelling of mademoiselle. The truth was impossible, indecent. It was such an unexpected stroke of fortune. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. “Dear old Daddy,” she said, “he’ll make a fearful fuss. If there is any drinking, I'll do it.
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