"Can't you take me with you?" urged the voice; "I'll make it well worth your while. But your cracked skull is by no means a pleasing spectacle. My address is 94, Pall Mall. Those awful chairs!" After dinner the spinsters proceeded to inscribe their accustomed quota of postcards, and Ruth was left to herself. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. .
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