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"Look at Jo!" derided Squinty, an old friend of the girl's in many a half-remembered camp. "Hey, youse plugs, gadder 'round here and lamp Jerkline Jo dollin' up! Good night!" "Beat it now!" Jo reiterated. "Say, dis here's good!" retorted Squinty. "I to't youse was a reg'lar woman, Jo! Youse know more 'bout cuffin' ole Jack an' Ned dan youse do 'bout fixin' yer hair.
"Got away with a hundred and fifty thousand from the local bank." "Well, well!" says I. "Didn't spend it dollin' himself up, did he?" "Oh, all that happened twenty years ago," says Steele. "The odd part of it is, though But come over to the hotel, where I can tell you the whole story." And, say, he had a tale, all right.
It was some such suspicion that lay behind her speech as, in negligee, she sat cross-legged on the bed, smoking a cigarette in a very knowing way, while watching Mary, who was adjusting her hat before the mirror of her dressing-table, one pleasant spring morning. "Dollin' up a whole lot, ain't you?" Aggie remarked, affably, with that laxity of language which characterized her natural moods.
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