John’s best friend’s parents were to be out of town again, he reported. An early bird clarinetist burst through in a long black skirt, swishing like a bell. Gerald swore. \"Cool. The young man had knocked over the siphon. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. It brought no coconut. Or else—Else it will be impossible that I can be his friend. “Good,” he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks.
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