” Her words were slurred with sleep. "Yes, now," rejoined the infuriated dame; "perhaps, I may never have another opportunity. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears.
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