He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. "Halloa!" cried Jack, looking round, and trying to fix his inebriate gaze upon the speaker,—"who's that?" "Your mother," replied Mrs. ” She acted calm, but could not help being offended. “These clothes are French, and I’m sure this floppy bow would make a Frenchman of me anyhow. Quite right. Brendon’s had an awful stroke of luck. " "But not for me," growled Terence, in an under tone.
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