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"Smith," said the Colonel, and then smoked and smiled again till my brow beaded,--"tired?"

"Wait a moment," she murmured, and watched the promenading pair turn back. Then she asked if I had read my mother's letter. I said I had. And then, very pensively, with head bent and eyes once more down, she inquired if I liked to get letters. Which led, quite accidentally, to my asking leave to write to her.

"Good-morning, Smith, who is your prisoner?"

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