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"Let me go, Mona," says Geoffrey, forcing her arms from round him and almost flinging her to one side. It is the first and last time he ever treats a woman with roughness. "Oh, indeed!" says Mona; and then, with downcast eyes, "but I don't know, because you never told me before." "He has been married a whole fortnight and never deigned to tell his own mother of it until now," says Lady Rodney, hysterically..
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A brittle glass that's broken presently, He is perhaps disappointed in that every Irish cloak does not conceal a face beautiful as a houri's. And he learns by degrees that only one in ten says "bedad," and that "och murther?" is an expression almost extinct. Nothing daunted, however, by this reception, Geoffrey returns his grasp with interest, and, looking fresh and young and happy, runs past him, up the stairs, to his mother's room, to beard—as he unfilially expresses it—the lioness in her den. It is a very cosey den, and, though claws maybe discovered in it, nobody at the first glance would ever suspect it of such dangerous toys. Experience, however, teaches most things, and Geoffrey has donned armor for the coming encounter. "It is inconceivable!" he says to nobody in particular. "What on earth does he mean?" He turns the letter round and round between his fingers as though it were a bombshell; though, indeed, he need not at this stage of the proceedings have been at all afraid of it, as it has gone off long ago and reduced Lady Rodney to atoms. "I shouldn't have thought Geoffrey was that sort of fellow.".
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