The Iron Bar. The girl wished that she had come afoot, despite the knowledge that she would have suffered many inconveniences, accidental and intentional jostling, insolence and ribald jest. “I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. This year—I’ve got it badly. A black-garbed young lad leapt out and let down the steps. I’d rather not go,” she added.
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