To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. 192 Her skirt had ridden almost to her hips. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. “Oh, there’s no doubt of it! Since the girls of the eighties broke bounds and sailed away on bicycles—my young days go back to the very beginnings of that —it’s been one triumphant relaxation. Presently they came to a wall, on the other side of which the dog began to bark violently; but Blueskin tossed him a piece of prepared meat, and uttering a low growl, he became silent.
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