’ ‘But you must want more. It 163 invariably leads to trouble. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. There had been fusses and scenes dimly apprehended through half-open doors. “Let’s go outside. '—'Oh! yes we are,' says he. Only Gwen left a letter on the pincushion. We remember it. He removed his cigarette from his lips and waved it gently in the air. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in.
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