" "Hoddy," she repeated. I suppose that shocks one’s ideas. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. Do you want to kill us both? Stop the thing. Yet you catch her eye—you can’t seem to escape from it. “Oh, you can act!” she cried. “A ballot-box, you know,” he said, “is very largely just a box. If he wants you, let him get you. I’m not half smart enough for the West End. All at once her heart began to patter queerly.
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