You couldn’t help it. “Rummy lot we are!” said Roddy. Stanley came home at a quarter to six—an earlier train by fifteen minutes than he affected—his sister met him in the hall with a hushed expression. " "Forgive you!" echoed his mother, with a look radiant with delight. As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in gray flannels appeared. Gianfrancesco’s had curved differently and was darker. Wouldn't it be fun to see his name on a book-cover some day? He'll go strutting up and down without ever dreaming he owed the whole shot to us.
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