The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. It was Celeste’s idea. A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. ‘Woof!’ uttered Trodger, gazing at the lady in some awe. I would speak with you. She blushed prettily, and in a moment regained command of her tongue.
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