An uncomfortable silence followed. "Much better," said Mrs. Pull over there. You give her a daub here and there where the rust shows. Brendon and I are great chums,” he went on nervously. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. But between us, we'll have him writing books some day. Wood, delighted at the idea. The fellow is little better than a lunatic. And you think I would marry you?’ ‘Why not? I am unworthy, eh? Because I am a servant.
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