And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. It was the only way to make the monthly bills. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. Gosse would have killed me, and perhaps in the fight I might kill him.
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