"I'll admit that. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. She has not been accused of any crime. And, mind! no prevaricating—nothing but the truth will satisfy me. . ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. What ho! lights! lights!" And, shouting as he went, he flung himself down stairs. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet.
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