‘You give me an excellent excuse to have in the Madeira,’ said his hostess, reaching for a silver hand bell and setting it pealing. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. " "Make it positive," was the brisk reply. That is my real milieu, and one that I am convinced you would not only adorn but delight in. But, when? When do they go?’ ‘Today, miss.
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