"Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. He continued his ditty, in spite of the angry glances of his leader. " "My turn comes before yours, Sir," interposed his better half. “Cheveney wouldn’t have anything to say about it, as it happens,” he remarked, a little grimly. I keep on thinking of little details and aspects of your voice, your eyes, the way you walk, the way your hair goes back from the side of your forehead. He did not particularly care. “I’m damned if I’ll believe it,” he muttered to himself savagely. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought.
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