"What is a sing-song girl?" she asked. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. Her tears dissipated as she began to convulse, completely devoid of any spare fluid. " "With a face as square and flat as a bottle of gin. Missy looked like a troll with lipstick on. —'We'll do it,' said they, filling their glasses, and looking as fierce as King George's grenadier guards; 'here's your health, Mint.
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