Ennison with my sister last night. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. He seemed to be thinking hard. You don’t happen to know of any one, I suppose, who wants a nursery governess, or a clerk—without shorthand—or a tryer-on, or a copyist, or——” “For Heaven’s sake stop, Miss Pellissier,” he interrupted. ” “I can’t go back to the Beck’s ever again.
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