"I will, darlin', shurely," says Bridget, who adores the ground she walks on; and then, turning, she leaves her. Mona lays her hand on Geoffrey's arm.,
"You are wrong," says Mona, coldly. "They seldom trouble themselves to speak of you at all." This is crueller than she knows.,
"I have given it," returns she, in a low tone,—so low that he has to bend to hear it. "Do not be angry with me, do not—I——".
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