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"Liar!" says Geoffrey between his teeth, his eyes fixed with deadly hatred upon his cousin. "Liar—and thief!" He goes a few steps nearer him, and then waits. "You may," says Mona, bracing herself for the ordeal. Then they move on once more, and go down the road that leads towards the farm..
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When he has told her a really good story.—quite true, and all about the æsthetic, Lady Lilias, who has declared her intention of calling this afternoon, and against whose wearing society he is strenuously warning her,—and when she has shown no appreciation of the wit contained therein, he knows there is something—as he himself describes it—"rotten in the state of Denmark." "If she presses refreshments on you, Mona, say, 'No, thank you,' without hesitation," says Geoffrey, with anxious haste, seeing they are drawing near their journey's end. "Because if you don't she will compel you to partake of metheglin and unleavened bread, which means sudden death. Forewarned is forearmed. Nolly and I have done what we can for you." "I was not listening at the door," says Mona, with dignity, yet with extreme difficulty: some hand seems clutching at her heart-strings, and he who should have been near to succor her is far away. "I never," haughtily, "listened at a door in all my life. I should not understand how to do it." Her Irish blood is up, and there is a distinct emphasis upon the pronoun. "You have wronged me twice!" In manner he is somewhat indolent, silent, perhaps lazy. But there is about him a subtle charm that endears him to all who know him. Perhaps it is his innate horror of offending the feelings of any one, be he great or small, and perhaps it is his inborn knowledge of humanity, and the power he possesses (with most other sensitive people) of being able to read the thoughts of those with whom he comes in contact, that enables him to avoid all such offence. Perhaps it is his honesty, and straightforwardness, and general, if inactive, kindliness of disposition..
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