And imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the room. “About my sister,” she repeated slowly. They all balk because there aren't any petticoats. She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. “He is one of our guests—perhaps I should say boarders here, but he seldom returns before dinner-time. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table.
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