“Thanks, Mister McCloskey. There was a pause, while the steel grey eyes sliced at her. Like carpenter, like chips. His pale and boyish waist was nearly as slim as her own. . " "Bull's eye!" piped O'Higgins. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. ” “I don’t care how we meet,” she said. “Nothing.
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