Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. “He is not—I don’t like him. I am Lucilla Froxfield, you must know. ‘But for now, I’m taking you home. Observe it—a blue-serge coat. “I must read him when I come out. "I can do without it," muttered Jack. “Why?” He inquired. " "I'm sorry I can't indulge you," replied her master, a little piqued. He was afraid if he stayed that he would make a fool of himself. "I'm going back for Ruth.
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