The little matter of an accent may be misleading, I grant you, but —’ He was interrupted, and with impatience. “Where would you like to go? Are you hungry?” “No. " "I guess what share you've had in this," whispered Austin to Mrs. " "You are from America?" "Yes. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. Eggs were procured for her, and she sat out the subsequent emotions and eloquence with the dignity becoming an injured lady of good family.
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