” “You like me?” “Yes. ” Courtlaw laid his hand upon Ennison’s shoulder. This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin—it cannot be called a smile—played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. “Forgive me,” he said. Even WITH the Censorship of Plays there’s hardly a decent thing to which a man can take his wife and daughters, a creeping taint of suggestion everywhere. “I MUST speak to you,” he said.
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