Their chit-chat stopped when they reached the bench. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. The watcher's intake of breath was sibilant. We have to get them to let us in for the profits of their business, and in return we ask them to—dinner. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. "The Captain has seldom much appetite," replied Blueskin, who, having disposed of the fowl, was commencing a vigorous attack upon the sirloin.
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