“You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. Hadn’t the stomach to admit the truth, had he? I’ll lay any money he labelled you with some foul French name as well. F. He handed her a cheque for thirty-one pounds, ten shillings, and read the agreement through to her. It’s just like your Splendid Pride to do it.
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