"You play?" asked McClintock, who was sorting the rolls. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. “I thought you weren’t getting along so well with your mother these days. ” “May I put you in a hansom?” he asked, lifting his stick. I wanted to have something to give up. So he shut his eyes. For a nun at night it is less dangerous than for the jeune demoiselle.
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