In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. "'Odd's-my-life! what's this?" exclaimed the carpenter, looking at the superscription of one of them. Everything was very neat; it had evidently been straightened up and kept for her. Moments, indeed! We like each other fresh and fresh. “Hello, Gwen!” said Ann Veronica, trying to put every one at their ease. They sat down, McClintock reaching for a lump of sugar which he began munching. “Look round the table,” she said.
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