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A pause. Now, Lady Rodney is at home, but, having given strict orders to the servants to say she is anywhere else they like,—that is, to tell as many lies as will save her from intrusion,—is just now reposing calmly in the small drawing-room, sleeping the sleep of the just, unmindful of coming evil. "Sure of course," says Mona. "Why, I used to ride the colts barebacked at home.".
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says Mr. Rodney, airing his bit of Dryden with conscious pride, in that it fits in so nicely. "At all events, you can't call it, CHAPTER XII. "It was unfortunate Mona should have met them at the hall door,—Edith Carson told me about it,—but it could not be helped," says Violet calmly. "Is it murder you want to see?" asks she slowly, in a horrified tone. "Go home, Paddy. Go home to your mother." Then, changing her censuring manner to one of entreaty, she says, softly, "Go, because I ask you.".
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