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Stefana says you needn't pay as much's you expected to, 'count o' the smooches an' wrink " "I always pay the same price for my dresses," Miss Theodosia said, forgetful of the boy's affliction. She put the money into the hard little palm of Carruthers and watched him scamper home with it. Miss Theodosia looked happy.
"How many, Wrink?" "Four," replied Wrinkles, plaintively. "Gimme three," said Pennoyer. "Gimme one," said Sanderson. "Gimme three," said Hawker. When he picked up his hand again Florinda's chair was tilted perilously. She saw another seven added to the little pair. Sanderson's draw had not assisted him. "Same to the dealer," said Grief. "What you got, Wrink?"
It was a common habit of Purple Sanderson to call attention at night to the resemblance of the den to some little ward in a hospital. Upon this night, when Sanderson and Grief were buried in slumber, Pennoyer moved restlessly. "Wrink!" he called softly into the darkness in the direction of the divan which was secretly a coal-box. "What?" said Wrinkles in a surly voice.
She took a seat upon the divan, which was privately a coal-box, and unbuttoned her jacket at the throat. "Is she is she very handsome, Wrink?" Wrinkles replied stoutly, "No." Grief said: "Let's make a sneak down the hall to the little unoccupied room at the front of the building and look from the window there. When they go out we can pipe 'em off."
On the left of Billie? Is that her, Wrink?" "What? Yes. Stop punching me! Yes, I tell you! That's her. Are you deaf?" In the evening Pennoyer conducted Florinda to the flat of many fire-escapes. After a period of silent tramping through the great golden avenue and the street that was being repaired, she said, "Penny, you are very good to me." "Why?" said Pennoyer. "Oh, because you are.
He confesses that "As long as I did bear the friar's style In me, God wot, was many wrink and wile, In me was falseness every wight to flatter, Which might be banished by no holy water; I was aye ready all men to beguile." So after a time we find him no longer a friar, but a courtier.
At the window Pennoyer said: "Now, for heaven's sake, don't let them see you! Be careful, Grief, you'll tumble. Don't lean on me that way, Wrink; think I'm a barn door? Here they come. Keep back. Don't let them see you." "O-o-oh!" said Grief. "Talk about a peach! Well, I should say so." Florinda's fingers tore at Wrinkle's coat sleeve. "Wrink, Wrink, is that her? Is that her?
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