There were a few loose, broken fragments of rock to reckon with upon the ledges, and one place where hands did as much work as toes. "You've but a sorry lodging, Mrs. It'll be your turn to save mine next. ’ ‘Not if you want one of good family, no,’ he agreed mildly. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. “How’s Mrs. Kneebone, I'll make one of the party. I have read that authors are very selfish and self-centred. I have just come from him. “It’s a new phase in the life history,” he remarked. ‘You see, it is that I am a female, and you all are men. " "I hope such a thing never will happen again, my dear," observed Wood, mildly, "but, when it does, it will be time to consider what course we ought to pursue.
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