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Farnol, Jeffery, 1878-1952

"The Definite Object A Romance of New York"

"
"But I--I don't like folks t' talk about my sister, an' it's got t'
stop. You got t' tell him so, or else I will. What's he got t' go buying
ye flowers for, anyway?"
Hermione's black brows knit in a sudden frown. "Arthur, don't be silly!"
"Oh, I know you think I'm only a kid--but I ain't--I'm not. If you can't
take care of--of yourself, I must and--"
"Arthur--stop!"
"Well, but what's he always crawlin' around here for?"
"He doesn't crawl--he couldn't," she cried in sudden anger; then in
gentler tones, "I don't think you'd better say any more, or maybe I
shall grow angry. If you have grown to think so--so badly of him,
remember I'm your sister."
"But you're a girl, an' he's a man an'--"
"Stop it!" Hermione stamped her foot, and meeting her flashing glance,
Spike wilted and--stopped it. So, while he glowered at the paper again,
Hermione put away the dinner things, making more clatter about it than
was usual, and turning now and then to glance at him from under her long
lashes.
"Where did you meet M'Ginnis as you came home, Arthur?"
"At the corner of--say, who told you I met him?"
"You did.


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