"Can't!" repeated his mother. Giving him a wide berth, and keeping her pistol high, she made her way to the door and warily peered through it. “Here is my card. As she did so the preparation-room door opened behind her. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time.
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