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"No. I'll see Isabella, and hear what she has to say. She loved Maurice, and will aid me to avenge his death." "Nonsense! I'm her only hope," returned Patricia with spirit. "She won't amount to a row of pins if she goes on this way. Don't you worry about her feelings. She's got sense enough to know I'm right. Come along over to the Academy with me now. The walk will do you good, and I'll feel more respectable with a good-looking escort while I'm lugging this huge thing." "I can't help it," I gulped in my sleeve. "I did use to like Alfred Bennett. My heart almost broke when he went away. I used to be beautiful and slim, and now I feel as if my own fat ghost has come to haunt me all my life. I am so ashamed! If a woman can't cry over her own dead beauty, what can she cry over?" By this time I was really crying..
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"Don't go tasting too many new ones around here," she cautioned with a kiss. "You might hit on the wrong one, and they wouldn't understand that it was merely a game with you." Patricia grinned. "You two geniuses understand each other, I see. Might a humdrum mortal remind you that David is just about sliding into the train shed at this moment?" "Is dere poison in de bag, white man?" "Never mind, my dear lady, you will later on," retorted Jen, with a nod. Then turning to Battersea, he resumed his examination. "You know the negress. Dido, who is in the employment of Mrs. Dallas?" he asked, mildly..
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