And, lastly, to the Seven Cities o' Refuge, in the New Mint. ‘Is that why you allowed me in, ma’am?’ A dimple appeared in the faded cheek. 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. You know nothing of life, nothing of its dangers, nothing of its possibilities. I’ll be waiting for you outside.
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