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"My old coco is disintegrating. It was Annabel’s. Now lend me your own hand. But Gerald kept to a casual note. It was not due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, a protective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery in order to hold the interest of the male. You may perceive harmony, proportion, rhythm, intensely. Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. “Let me hasten,” she said, “to reassure you. " "My writing! no such thing!" ejaculated the lady, casting a look of alarm at the woollen-draper. She won’t be a problem from now on. “The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed. I don’t think women need to trouble about political questions. “I do hope I have been able to make you understand how I feel, that you don’t consider me a hopeless prig.
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