human
Pray do not flatter yourself, began the missive, dispensing entirely with the regulation formality of opening--
gpt
Oh, good God in heaven, cried Selwood, horror-stricken.
human
What in the world have I gone and done now! `Maurice Sellon! Violet Avory!' Good Lord, what does it all mean?
gpt
Adela Sellon.
human
Oh, good Lord, I've done it now! he cried again, the horrible truth dawning upon him that he had not only opened and read another man's letter, but had surprised another man's secret, and that a secret of a peculiarly awkward nature. How he anathematised his carelessness. He snatched up the envelope, which he had thrown down among the others. There was the address--plain as a pikestaff. Yet, stay, not so very plain after all. It was directed
gpt
M. Sellon, Esq. But the long letters were dwarfed and the short extended. The
human
M at a casual glance looked not unlike
gpt
Ch, a common abbreviation on envelopes of Selwood's longish Christian name. Then like lightning, his memory sped back to the day of his guest's arrival and his own joke relative to each of them holding half their names in common.
human
We are both `Sells,'