The old man Pottiswick, still grumbling, much to Melusine’s disgust, had gone on his errand to his daughter’s house some two miles distant. Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat. “I shall probably want you to come down to the ‘Unusual’ to-morrow morning,” he said. By the by, Mr. Earles said, slowly, keeping his eyes fixed upon her, “forty at the ‘Unusual,’ two turns, encores voluntary, six for matinées. But a little daughter is one thing and a daughter quite another.
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