She would never, never go back. The Master of the Mint, in the exercise of his two-fold office of governor and publican, was mounted upon a chair, and holding forth to his guests in a speech, to which Mrs. Living, he knew that he would never send that letter. He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger. They laughed and talked and stared about them. They confronted each other, barely feet apart, neither apparently any longer aware of anyone else in the room.
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