’ ‘Aye, miss,’ Kimble agreed, taking the garments, ‘but where will I find you?’ ‘I do not know. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. Brown engaged in the usual browbeating and complaining he reserved for sections who came in late and soloists who left tempo behind like the leftovers of a Sunday picnic. "I have no sympathy," replied Prudence, "with a man who deliberately fuddles himself with strong drink.
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