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White Lies by Charles Reade
page 73 of 493 (14%)
"Mademoiselle."

"Monsieur."

"Is it quite decided that your family refuse my acquaintance, my
services, which I still--forgive me--press on you? Ah! Mademoiselle
Rose, am I never to have the happiness of--of--even speaking to you?"

"It seems so," said Rose, ironically.

"Have you then decided against me too?"

"I?" asked Rose. "What have I to do with questions of etiquette? I am
only a child: so considered at least."

"You a child--an angel like you?"

"Ask any of them, they will tell you I am a child; and it is to that I
owe this conversation, no doubt; if you did not look on me as a child,
you would not take this liberty with me," said the young cat, scratching
without a moment's notice.

"Mademoiselle, do not be angry. I was wrong."

"Oh! never mind. Children are little creatures without reserve, and
treated accordingly, and to notice them is to honor them."

"Adieu then, mademoiselle. Try to believe no one respects you more than
I do."

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