We were to live in some wretched London suburb. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed. “If I had three hands,” she said, with a faint smile, “I would give one to each of you. “And yet,” he said, “you bid me talk cheerfully, or not at all. But it seemed that their presence was not even suspected. —Gentlemen, your most obsequious trout.
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