Then for a time she forgot the Fadden affair altogether. “Are you a special sort of clergyman,” she said, after a pause, and looking down her nose at him, “or do you go to the Universities?” “Oh!” he said, profoundly. It 163 invariably leads to trouble. “His dress for no man lays a snare; A man scores always, everywhere. Her anger died and she eyed him. \" He piped up. She shuddered, adding confidentially, ‘You wouldn’t get me in there now, mind. Plote was sleeping or deaf.
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