“You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. CHAPTER VIII. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. ‘Lucky I have you to keep me from Bedlam, then.
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