But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad. He seemed to be hesitating between two courses of action. "Bless your soul! d'ye think I'm to be gammoned by such nonsense. “Not a bit of it,” he said; “it’s only a score in a game. Here, it might be anything at all. I’m not half smart enough for the West End. ” True summer descended like a sticky fever upon August’s arrival, bringing with it miasmas of humidity that seemed to hang from the trees like mucus.
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