‘Because you are a bête, and a pig, and imbecile. At least, you are one, and I am disguised like one. She was crushed with a sense of her own terrible impotency. You’re a lady. “Your name and address were upon an envelope found in the pocket of an Englishman who was brought here late last night suffering from serious injuries,” he said in a dry official tone. Sir John hesitated.
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