" She had no reason to doubt him. It was a letter. Besides," she added, blushing yet more deeply, "it isn't a proper one to talk upon. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion.
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