“I wonder if there is anything wrong with my manners,” she said. ” “Don’t tempt me,” she said, laughing, and drawing her opera-cloak together. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. . The Night-Cellar. She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says.
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