She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. The grim mockery of it!—those South Sea loafers, taking advantage of Enschede's Christianity and imposing upon him, accepting his money and medicines and laughing behind his back! No doubt they made the name a byword and a subject for ribald jest in the waterfront bars. As though accidentally she swept her skirts from a chair close drawn to her own. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. You are not ‘Alcide. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 06-06-2024 10:18:46
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