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courteous adversary a low bow.
‘I accept your apology, Miss Sylvia,’ said he.
‘Then,’ returned Miss Sylvia, in a lofty manner, ‘there is
nothing more to be said, and I have the honour to bid you
good-night, sir.’
The little maiden drew her shawl close around her with
immense dignity, and marched down the passage as calmly
as though she had been Amadis of Gaul himself.
Frere, gaining his room choking with laughter, opened
the folded paper by the light of the tallow candle, and read,
in a quaint, childish hand:—
SIR,—I have struck you. I apologize in writing. Your
humble servant to command, SYLVIA VICKERS.
‘I wonder what book she took that out of?’ he said. ‘‘Pon
my word she must be a little cracked. ‘Gad, it’s a queer life
for a child in this place, and no mistake.’
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