“You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. "What did the old fellow judge from, eh, Joan?" asked he. She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets. "Sir Cecil is no more. “No,” she answered, reluctantly. His vision was becoming accustomed to the faint light now and her features were clearer.
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