" "Twenty pounds," rejoined Mrs. I will take you for thirty-five shillings a week. “You will have some tea?” she asked. “I didn’t think you’d come. ” “Not in the least,” she assured him. She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floor with her chin resting upon the window-sill. Drummond took up a cigarette and lit it. You've your own reasons, no doubt, for bringing up her son —perhaps, I ought rather to say your son, Mr. Superimposed was the agitating thought of what would follow the death of this unwelcome guest: confusion, poking authorities, British and American red tape.
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