She put a stool for him at a little distance from her own, and after he had seen the day’s work he hesitated, and then plunged into a resumption of their discussion about beauty. ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. All make the same answer—'d—n you, keep it. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. ‘Oh, I do love a flatterer. Wood, in indignant surprise. Instead of which they walked sharply. I suppose this is what she learns in her infernal London colleges. She deserves what has befallen her.
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