She drew a long breath. Her wings were oddly weak, but for all that she could fly. “But how can you?” asked Constance. His eyes caught at hers with passionate inquiries. “You can’t imagine,” Sydney exclaimed, “that the people downstairs will be such drivelling asses as to believe piffle like that. Probably she mistook you; probably she thought you cared. He brought another small loaf, and a can with which he replenished the pitcher, recommending Jack to be careful, as he would get nothing further till morning.
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