“Do you like my dress?” “Yes, the dress is beautiful, but you are much more beautiful than any dress. Then we can loiter and gossip to our heart’s content. Spurlock halted in his tracks. That’s my opinion, if you ask me. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. "I can't tell you!" she replied, blushing deeply, and clinching her little hand as tightly as possible; "it's a secret!" "I'll soon find it out, then," he returned, playfully forcing the paper from her grasp. And she felt that if she went home it was imperative to pay. Henry Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New York.
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