“Oh, I can’t thank you. Ramage!” she cried, and struggled to her feet. "I can, and will. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. “Mike, that’s not even remotely funny. "Insult you! not I;" returned Figg.
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