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"Don't you think, sir, you would like to get ready for dinner?" says Geoffrey, with mock severity. "You can continue your attentions to my wife later on,—at your peril." "What's that?" asked Mona. "Don't speak of your mother as if she were a chromatic scale." The runnel hath.
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"Has he the will?" asks Mona, foolishly, but impulsively. "Nothing on earth shall bring me to say that," says Mona, solemnly. "Nothing!" "Geoffrey? Oh, no. It was he who brought me. He bade me hasten lest you should even imagine me careless about coming. And—and—he desired me to say how he regrets the harsh words he uttered and the harsher thoughts he may have entertained towards you. Forgive him, I implore you, and die in peace with him and all men." "Well, that is in her favor, I really think," says Violet, in her most unprejudiced manner. "If she were to leave off her rococo toilettes, and take to Elise or Worth like other people, and give up posing, and try to behave like a rational being, she might almost be called handsome.".
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