"Thames, I entreat—" "Your wishes are my laws, beloved, girl," replied Kneebone, bowing profoundly. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. What Miss Miniver would have called the Higher Truth supervenes.
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