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"Yes, sit there," she says, a new note of tender sympathy in her tone, keeping her hand on Violet's shoulder as the latter makes some faint polite effort to rise again. "You must indeed. It is such a dear, cosey, comfortable little chair." "I pity your wife," says Mona, almost severely. "I do know," says Mona. "First, because I would have you weigh everything carefully, and——".
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Conrad
He is a little disappointed by the calmness of her answer. "Then I will sing you a song I was sent last week," says Mona, and forthwith sings him "Years Ago," mournfully, pathetically, and with all her soul, as it should be sung. Then she gives him "London Bridge," and then "Rose-Marie," and then she takes her fingers from the piano and looks at him with a fond hope that he will see fit to praise her work. "I wonder," she says to herself, softly, "whether he will be with me at the usual hour to-morrow, or,—a little earlier!" As Mona gazes at him half fearfully, he raises himself suddenly on his elbow, and says, in a tone far stronger than he has yet used,—.
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