“MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. Though I’ll wager she used this passage, and we certainly ought to investigate it. There were always parrots and parrakeets screaming in the fruit groves. And shall their wretched offspring live to blight my hopes, and blast my fame? Never!" And, with these words, he grasped Wood by the throat, and, despite his resistance, dragged him to the very verge of the platform. Leastways, not on your own. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. These two elderly ladies would call her stark mad.
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