‘Major Gerald Alderley, mademoiselle, quite at your service. Here, turnkey. It is no fault of your own that you are not at this moment standing there with your head blown off. ” She caressed his cheek seductively with her left palm and he closed his eyes in dreamy anticipation. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. “By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply.
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