“You can’t imagine,” Sydney exclaimed, “that the people downstairs will be such drivelling asses as to believe piffle like that. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. ” He did not move. She turned her head away sharply. But this accusation, for want of sufficient evidence, met with the same fate as the first, and Jonathan came off victorious. But I'll never part with your irons.
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