" "The very idea is dreadful," whimpered Edgeworth Bess. When she judged that she must be nearly back at the library, she began to feel somewhat dispirited. “What ought you to do?” He began to produce his knowledge of the world for her benefit, jerkily and allusively, and with a strong, rank flavor of “savoir faire. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. “Looooo-ceeeeee!!” He yelled, sounding like Desi Arnaz.
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