She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. " "Who's lost?" demanded Ireton. He too looked at the girl, slackened his pace and looked at her again through his eye-glasses, looked over his shoulder after he had passed, and finally came to a dead stop. .
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