"Another such attempt," said the latter, "and you are a dead man. “I think,” she said, “that I would rather not have anything to say about that man. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. I didn’t dream, not even in my wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me. Spurlock bent his head to the rail.
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