" "Iss, Massa Ireton," replied the black. " "There's no hurry. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. He must not in any way call their attention to it. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. It was dry, as if she had powdered it. On the fifth day he had ventured speech with her. Please sit with me.
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