Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. So I am already no longer the girl you knew at Morningside Park. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. I see now that you make a game with me indeed.
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