’ The expression on Emile Gosse’s face was vicious under the smile. His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. Celestial Uncles! Spurlock chuckled, and a bit of chestnut, going down the wrong way, set him to coughing violently. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. I fancy that Sir John does not approve of me.
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