“I don’t see, Mollie,” he remarked, taking a cigar from the box on the table as his sister and daughter rose, “why you and Vee shouldn’t discuss this little affair —whatever it is—without bothering me. “For nothing, do you call it?” he declared. She would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. . It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not.
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