’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. Well, I'll take myself off. E. It's gin—a liquor you used to like. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. Sorry. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say. Then he took me out to Monteaux, on a motor. ‘Perhaps I could indeed rescue you if only you would confide in me. ‘That’s better,’ said Gerald, and let her go.
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