Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. She shuddered. "Troth, and so did you," returned the watchman; "but I couldn't belave it. ” The detective nodded. An inarticulate instinct which now found expression. “Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation,” she said, smiling. "I forbid you to do that. "Come! I see the storm has blown over," cried Winifred, brightening up.
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