"I am coming to the point, Joan. They used to marry us off at seventeen, rush us into things before we had time to protest. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. “Here we are, living in the same suburb,” he began. You shirk a straightforward and decent return for what you get from us— taking refuge in purity and delicacy and such-like when it comes to payment. I have a hundred of them—mixed blood—on my island, and they are always rooking me. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. Predictably, Charvill turned on him. What was the old tabby at? Unaccountably embarrassed, he cleared his throat.
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