” Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass. Q. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. “It was perhaps my fault. It opened and a nun’s head popped out. The veranda bamboo will be enough for me. 'Whoso giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord;' that's my comfort. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. He was speechless.
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