\" She fibbed. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. You refuse me your confidence. " "Hold your tongue, sirrah," rejoined Shotbolt, not over-pleased by the remark, "and mind what I tell you. Sir John stood upon the threshold. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand.
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