“Well?” she said. ‘Imbecile. I am your servitor. Ennison with my sister last night. He was not, in truth, much of a ladies’ man. ” He said. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. His smile faded. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. ToC Mrs.
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