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Mannel Rodd’s round face was very solemn as in two chubby fists he held out a small box containing a number of short knobby specimens. “But it’s a secret,” she whispered in smothered distress. “Please to go!” The first act over, a troop of black-faced comedians occupied the stage..
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Conrad
Mrs. Newman smiled knowingly; she was familiar with his type, here to-day and gone to-morrow, with falling in love a convenient habit to give zest to the round of vaudeville performances. Mr. Zalhambra caught her smile of incredulity and murmured, “This time it is really fatal.” “I must of looked like that Lize or the picter couldn’t of been took.” Ruefully he rubbed his bald crown. “You don’t want to see your mother now, do you, boy? No more do you feel like jabbering with Bess at our table. Come over to the hotel, and we’ll lunch together.” Whose hearts never—”.
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