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ALL SORTS OF MEN . . . AND WOMEN
“But I thought you approved of our society, Mr. Harrison,” she mourned.
“So I do . . . so I do . . . but my approval doesn’t go as deep as my pocket, Anne.”
“A few more experiences such as I have had to-day would make me as much of a pessimist as Miss Eliza Andrews,” Anne told her reflection in the east gable mirror at bedtime.
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