He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. She was always breaking rules, whispering asides, intimating signals. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. Supposing you take them and read them? You might be able to tell me why I felt disappointed.
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