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"Do," said Mabel. "You're terribly in the way here. It's about the first sensible idea you've had for this last year." By half-past ten next morning he was on the platform at Victoria station. Would Jona be there? Apparently not. He caught a distant glimpse of Lord Tyburn, but it was not with him that he was proposing to elope.
"My friends, the next article I will offer for your inspection is the homa jona, radical, tragical, incomprehensible compound extract of the double-distilled rute-te-tute toilet soap. "T-a-l-k about your astronomical calculation and scientific investigation, but the man who invented this soap, studied for one hundred years.
He was entirely covered with small pieces of dried grass. Jona came round the end of the tree and began picking pieces of grass off him. "You're in a mess," she said. "We're both in a mess," he said. "Right in. Up to the neck." "I don't know how much longer I shall be able to stand it," said Jona. "In London it was actresses. Down here it's ladies from the Mammoth Circus.
"Read it," said Mabel. He glanced through it. It was very brief. "Well?" asked Mabel. "It's nothing. Nothing at all." "I should like to see it, if you don't mind." She took the letter and read aloud: "Lukie, dear. Just back from two years' travel. You two might blow in to lunch one day. Any old day. Chops and tomato sauce. Yours, Jona." "Most extraordinary," said Mabel.
There were two men after her. He seemed to visualize the situation as a scrap from the stop-press of a newspaper. Also ran. Luke Sharper, Esq. He recalled some of the things Jona had said to him in the tool-shed. She had been rather frank in speaking of her husband. "Bill's wonderful," she said. "He caught the tiger last night. When the keeper couldn't get it. He does everything well.
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