Well, I'd no idea," she continued, pursuing her ruminations as she left the room, "that people of quality laughed so. To witness this girl sewing on a loose button, flopping the coat about on her knees, tickled his ironic sense of humour; and laughter bubbled into his throat. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. "Did you write it?" "No. .
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