The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. ‘Sir?’ enquired the lad. Wily little devil she is. ‘To go to these Charvill, it was not in my plot. "Hear! hear!" vociferated Quilt. ‘Major Gerald Alderley, mademoiselle, quite at your service. This way, Sir Rowland.
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