CHAPTER XVII. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. “Go on!” she commanded. “I feel shabby and disgraced. ’ ‘A convent?’ echoed Gerald with interest. Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she had acquired. ” “It was a delightful piece of good fortune that I should have met you,” he answered. What CAN she put before that?” His voice began to rise. Figg, the noted prize-fighter, from the New Amphitheatre in Marylebone Fields.
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