" "Sir Rowland Trenchard!" echoed Jack, in amazement. But such is the perversity of the human that frequently thereafter he purposely crooked the part in his hair, to give her the excuse to fetch the comb. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. “Yes I did. I often think of those delightful evenings in Paris.
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