The Night-Cellar XVIII. "Well, if you won't come, I shall help myself, and that's unsociable," pursued the speaker, evidently, from the noise he made, suiting the action to the word. “I—I am sorry—I didn’t explain. And here you are!” Her aunt opened all the fingers of her gloved hand in a rhetorical gesture. Just a friendly polite suggestion. “There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley.
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