"Miss Enschede—such an odd name!—are you French?" "Oh, no. “It is a hateful story. 1. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. " Spurlock's glance shot up, flaming again. This was an imitation of the noises made by the carnivora at the Zoological Gardens at feeding-time; the idea was taken up by prisoner after prisoner until the whole place was alive with barkings, yappings, roarings, pelican chatterings, and feline yowlings, interspersed with shrieks of hysterical laughter. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. "Women ought never to show themselves on these occasions, unless they can behave themselves properly. We're to be given a treat to-night.
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