“What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as though it was very important to her. “My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. He had invited himself to dine with her merely to watch her table manners. I don’t believe any one could have traced us here.
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