“There ought to be some means of getting at him,” he said. She turned her eyes to him again, and saw her late friend and pleasant and trusted companion, who had seen fit suddenly to change into a lover, babbling interesting inacceptable things. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. “Thank you. ‘There’s no controlling you, is there?’ He held up his hands.
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