"Hark!" she said, "there's the nursery curfew!--and not one wretched infant bathed! Billy! March bathward, my son! Drina, sweetheart, take command.

Prune souffle for the obedient, dry bread for rebels! Come, children!--don't let mother speak to you twice." "Let's go down to the library," said Eileen to Selwyn--"you are dining with us, of course.

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