‘I fear you mistake, Emile. I'm a graybeard, an old bachelor; so I am accorded certain privileges. It was a letter. ‘If you’ll have the goodness, missie, to move yourself out of the way,’ he said aggrievedly, ‘and let us at him, we might have a chance of doing just that. ‘Stay, Saling!’ The butler halted, looking round enquiringly.
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