One comes at last to the step from dreams to reality. ” “Well, you see, something has happened at home. I wanted something alive. Lady Lescelles, graceful, very fashionably but quietly dressed, leaned back and watched her with shrewd kindly eyes. That same adventurousness that had already buoyed her through crises that would have overwhelmed any normally feminine girl with shame and horror now became uppermost again. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. “What year was 221 that, about 1350?” He asked in wonderment. ‘Think I’m fool enough to do my business in a convent?’ he said scornfully. ” She fought to keep her teeth from chattering. He used to call it his fire-escape—ha! ha! I've often used the ladder for my own convenience, but I never expected to turn it to such good account.
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