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e's a dear. It's getting late." She went, and left the red over the middle pocket. "A-ha!" I said. I found a nice place in the "D" for my ball. "Now then. This is the Gray stroke, you know." I suppose I was nervous. Anyhow, I just nicked the red ball gently on the wrong side and left it hanging over the pocket. The white travelled slowly up the table. "Why is that called the grey stroke?" asked Celia with great interest. "Because once, when Sir Edward Grey was playing the German Ambassador--but it's rather a long story. I'll tell you another time." "Oh! Well, anyhow, did the German Ambassador get anything for it?" "No." "Then I suppose I don't. Bother." "But you've only got to knock the red in for game." "Oh!... There, what's that?" "That's a miss-cue. I get one." "Oh!... Oh well," she added magnanimously, "I'm glad you've started scoring. It will make it more interesting for you." There was just room to creep in off the red, leaving it still over the pocket. With Celia's ball nicely over the other pocket there was a chance of my twenty break. "Let's see," I said, "how many do I want?" "Twenty-nine," replied Celia. "Ah," I said ... and I crept in. "That's three to you," I said icily. "Game." BURLESQUES THE SEASIDE NOVELETTE [MAY BE READ ON THE PIER] No. XCVIII--A SIMPLE ENGLISH GIRL CHAPTER I PRIMROSE FARM Primrose Farm stood slumbering in the sunlight of an early summer morn. Save for the gentle breeze which played in the tops of the two tall elms all Nature seemed at rest. Chanticleer had ceased his song; the pigs were asleep; in the barn the cow lay thinking. A deep peace brooded over the rural scene, the peace of centuries. Terrible to think that in a few short hours ... but perhaps it won't. The truth is I have not quite decided whether to have the murder in this story or in No. XCIX.--_The Severed Thumb_. We shall see. As her alarum clock (a birthday present) struck five, Gwendolen French sprang out of bed and plunged her face into the clump of nettles which grew outside her lattice window. For some minutes she stood there, breathing in the incense of the day; then dressing quickly she went down into the great oak-beamed kitchen to prepare breakfast for her father and the pigs. As she went about her simple duties she sang softly to herself, a song of love and knightly deeds. Little did she think that a lover, even at that moment, stood outside h
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