" "Who's lost?" demanded Ireton. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. It was his particular hobby, and the leisure he had to apply to it had given him a remarkable appraising eye. She drew a breath, and sighed it out. Probably he will come around to-morrow and begin all over again. ‘You have rifled his papers. He seized a tray, squatted on the floor, and imitated the tom-tom.
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