It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. Every one took him for the millionaire, and he had lost his head about me. He wanted to become a millionaire. Mr. Ann Veronica found herself in a little stirring crowd of excited women, whispering and tittering and speaking in undertones. In this state, he contrived to get the poor black's hand into his mouth, and nearly bit off one of his fingers before the sufferer could be rescued. Well, they’d got to the pheasants, and in a little while he would smoke.
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