“Go on!” “You know—in Paris they coupled my name with some one’s—an Englishman’s. “You have succeeded a little too well in your personation,” she said bitterly, “to get rid very easily of Mr. He reached for her chin and lifted it up. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. You represented to us the immaculate Briton, the one Englishman who typified the Saxonism, if I may coin a word, of our race. She met him by the dugout after the game.
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