Stanley changed his key. For a long time he remained standing before the fire, staring at the situation. “Don’t you care for Mr. He reached over and took her hand. ‘Very wise,’ he commented, slightly relaxing his arm. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. I gather you wish to go up in some fantastic get-up, wrapped about in your opera cloak, and that after the festivities you propose to stay with these friends of yours, and without any older people in your party, at an hotel.
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