‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. Her moods were many and always striking. Manning, in his entirely different dialect, indorsed her brother Roddy’s view of things. This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin—it cannot be called a smile—played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. Perhaps it was loneliness. ‘But so also it is downstairs. "Tell me the truth, I implore you," cried Thames.
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