She fidgeted and looked away. "Now, Sir, I'll trouble you for your coat. Wood," said the lady bridling up, "my request may, perhaps, have some weight with you. Prudence shook her head. But though he made Blueskin and Kettleby his chief marks, he missed both. I spent this afternoon in detention. Besides, it did not fit her well, which was why the loose wimple had slipped. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. “If you speak—farewell. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. First, I went to Country Tom's, the Goat, in Long Lane.
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