“Leave them!” He yelled. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. Superstition is the Chinese Reaper. And yet—you millionaires should really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. It was something that would create a mutual claim, a relationship. It might be that the boy had taken one drink too many, or someone had given him knock-out drops. “If you say so, my pet.
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