No wonder that Trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have some misgivings cross him. ’ Then memory hit and he stared at his friend. "Where am I?" asked Spurlock. “Look here, daddy,” she said, in a tone of great reasonableness, “I MUST go to that dance, you know. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. Good night. " "Nothing," echoed Wood furiously.
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