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Daughters were not like sons. The little old lady struck like a projectile upon the resounding chest of the foremost of these, and then Ann Veronica had got past and was ascending the steps. ‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came. Somewhere she had read that it was the proper thing to do and that men liked to be alone with their tobacco. Jack was completely overcome.
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