"How sweet these roses are! Shall I put them into water?" "Put them where they came from," replied Mrs. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. It arises, I think, from an over developed sense of humour. "We never suffer him to mention Mr. Thwart me, and I become your mortal enemy. "Rather cramped, eh?" "Rather so, Sir," replied the other, altering his position.
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