MISS THOMASINA TUCKER
“Yes; it is n’t nice to make up your mind so suddenly that it turns everything topsy-turvy,” sighed Tommy—“I won’t have any meat, thank you.”
Walter looked distinctly grieved. “I can recommend the pulley-ong-cazzerole, miss, and there’s potatoes sortey with it.”
Tommy’s appetite kindled at the sound of his accent, and she relented. “Yes, I’ll have a small portion, please, after all.”
“When friends are together the world seems very small, and when they are separated it becomes a space too vast for human comprehension—I think I’ve heard that before, but it’s true,” said Appleton.
“Yes,” Tommy answered, for lack of anything better to say.
“It seems as if we had known each other for years.”
“And it is less than three weeks,” was Tommy’s contribution to the lagging conversation.
“The bishop offered me a letter of introduction to you when he wrote me at the
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