“Don’t they look like a pair of young lovers sleeping off a tryst?” He observed. ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. “I don’t mind, of course, your seeing her sometimes, still there are differences— differences in social atmospheres. " As he said this, he moved forward a few paces, when, finding his feet glued to the ground by some adhesive substance, he stooped to feel what it was, but instantly withdrew his hand, with an exclamation of horror.
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