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“Number 13, please, cabman. And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. ‘The gatehouse? But why must you move him at all?’ ‘Listen, missie. I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible. . "Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us.
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