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Updated: May 11, 2025
'Till to-morrow. She looked at him alarmedly. 'Will! But you have promised me. You are going away to-morrow. He did not reply. His eyes were roving round the chamber, dimly lighted by the two candles. He was observing the feminine details the untidinesses so characteristic of her; the daintinesses, equally characteristic all in such odd contrast with inevitable bush roughnesses.
"You mustn't spoil the play by forgetting your lines. That wouldn't do!" His eye was caught by the envelope that Spennie had dropped. A momentary lapse from the jovial and benevolent was the result. His fussy little soul abhorred small untidinesses. "Dear me," he said, stooping, "I wish people would not drop paper about the house. I cannot endure a litter."
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