I am the cause of his ill-usage. " "To be sure he is," acquiesced Blueskin. “My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. Hardened as he may be, that would touch him. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. A cold shiver came over her.
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