"Too late, master," replied the landlord of the Trumpeter, in a surly tone, for he did not much like the appearance of his customer; "just shut up shop. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. “I loathe afternoon concerts, and——” She was really like her sister he thought, impressed for a moment by the soft brilliancy of her smile. Then she saw him.
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