‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. It was easy to discover that he was a knave, but equally easy to perceive that he was a pleasant fellow; a combination of qualities by no means of rare occurrence. And for me there is only one treasure-house. She took the tray with both hands, gulped, and gave way to tears. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles.
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