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Updated: June 22, 2025
I looked around through each window, inclined my ear to the door, swept an arm around her waist, and forgot to proceed. "Oh, Arabella! Arabella! wherefore art thou Arabella?" "Do you wish I were somebody else?" she asked, slyly. "No, no! but what of Frank Lillivan?" "Frank, do you know him?" "And he has told me yes." "What?" "Of his relations with Miss Tarlingford." "With Anna, yes." "What Anna?
Controlled by the hand of beauty, the cue becomes a magic wand, and the balls are no longer bits of inanimate ivory, but, poked restlessly hither and thither, circulating messengers of fascination. I know, for I have been there. Had Miss Tarlingford turned her thoughts toward the bowling-alley, I might without difficulty have retained my self-possession; for her sex are not charming at ten-pins.
Borro-boolah-gah may know us by our India-rubber shirts and pictorial pocket-handkerchiefs; and King Mumbo Jumbo may reduce his rebellious locks to subjection with a Yankee currycomb; but these, our desert flowers, are All Right, De Sauty! There is a lady in this case. Her beauty was dazzling, and her name was Tarlingford.
Having been many times wretchedly bored by this sort of thing, I was now correspondingly gladdened by the contrast. Miss Tarlingford played well, and I said so. "Pretty well," she answered, frankly; "but not so well as I could wish." Shock Number Two. Here was a young lady who played well, and had the hardihood to acknowledge it.
Turning over the pile of letters awaiting owners, I came upon one, directed in Lillivan's handwriting, to Miss A. Tarlingford, etc., etc. To think that a paltry superscription should carry such a weight of tribulation with it! I thus discovered that my lines had fallen in unpleasant places. I was fishing in a preoccupied stream, and had got myself entangled.
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