If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. Had she said the words aloud? He pulled her close and she nuzzled her head on his chest. Now it is—’ ‘What are you doing still here, missie, that’s what I’d like to know?’ demanded the man Trodger, sticking to his guns. “All’s well that ends well,” he said; “and the less one says about things the better.
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