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Reade, Charles, 1814-1884

"A Woman-Hater"

There, ladies,
there is an indictment in two counts; traverse either of them if you can.
Joseph Ashmead, thus delicately but effectually manipulated, swelled with
gratified vanity and said, "You are quite right; you can't do this sort
of thing yourself; you want an agent."
"Of course I do."
"Well, you have got one. Now let me see--fifty to one he is not at
Homburg at all. If he is, he most likely stays at Frankfort. He is a
swell, is he not?"
"Swell!" said the Anglo-Dane, puzzled. "Not that I am aware of." She was
strictly on her guard against vituperation of her beloved scamp.
"Pooh, pooh!" said Ashmead; "of course he is, and not the sort to lodge
in Homburg."
"Then behold my incompetence!" said Ina.
"But _the_ place to look for him is the gambling-saloon. Been there?"
"Oh, no."
"Then you must."
"What! Me! Alone?"
"No; with your agent."
"Oh, my friend; I said you would find him."
"What a woman! She will have it he is in Homburg. And suppose we do find
him, and you should not be welcome?"
"I shall not be unwelcome. _I shall be a change."_
"Shall I tell you how to draw him to Homburg, wherever he is?" said
Ashmead, very demurely.


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