"'Odd's-my-life! what's this?" exclaimed the carpenter, looking at the superscription of one of them. Alban's to-night. They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they were thick, unequal, pitiful pieces of work. Why should you wish to forget it? Unless it is that you did not enjoy it. You refuse me your confidence. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. Not a word passed between them. ’ At this, the fellow Valade burst into unwise speech.
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