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Even while still masticating the viscid unripe parkin, Milly rose to depart. She bent down and dutifully grazed with her lips the cheek of the parkin-maker. 'Good-bye, auntie; good-bye, uncle. And in an elegant, mincing tone, 'Good afternoon, Mr. Twemlow. 'I suppose you've just got to be on time at the next place? he said quizzically, smiling at her vivid youth in spite of himself.
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