She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness. “Only four spoonsful left,” she declared briskly, “and your turn to buy the next pound, Sydney. I was mean to him. She had warned him. By chance I went to one who had known you in Paris. ’ ‘Just what I thought, miss. They came teeming distressfully through her aching brain: “A man can kick, his skirts don’t tear; A man scores always, everywhere.
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