Only a son’s another story. \" That again. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. Without betraying the slightest confusion, or making a single remark, he quietly resumed his seat. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. Blueskin therefore had nothing to stop him. "Manuscripts! Why, this chap is a writer, or is trying to be. The man turned at the exclamation, and so did several of the bystanders; but they could not make out who had uttered it.
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