“Ye Gods!” she said at last. She closed her eyes as if asleep, her hands folded neatly on her abdomen. The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. 144 I think he heard about the backpack and the spitballs finally. Well, I'll have a look-see at this young De Maupassant.
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