what’s your name again?” He asked. She dropped the manuscripts and swiftly brought the coat to him, noting that a button hung loose. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. “Well, you have thought it over?” he said, sitting down beside her. “To me it seems serious enough. I never yet heard of a Christians as was named after the Shannon or the Liffy; and the Thames is no better than a dhurty puddle, compared wi' them two noble strames. At least for one moment, it was.
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