“Please forgive me coming up, Miss Pellissier, but you have not been down to dinner for three nights, and—Brendon and I—we were afraid that you might be unwell. From what do you wish to be rescued?’ The girl fluttered her eyelashes, sighed dramatically and spread her hands. I’ll give you, say, thirty-five guineas a week clear of expenses, and half of anything you earn above the two turns a night. You will survive, mark my words. There you are, the best client’s chair. "Yes … but dreadfully tired.
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