A broken laugh followed the action. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. He saw his father, calling to him from an icy white tunnel, beckoning to him. There was a deep groan, and the sound of a fall within. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye.
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