I suppose most of our daughters would marry organ-grinders if they had a chance—at that age. CHAPTER XXVI Spurlock went out on his toes, careful lest the bamboo curtain rattle behind him. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. I have calculated my chances, you perceive. "Your answer, gem'men?" demanded Sharples.
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