He had quite enough to see to and worry about in the City without their doing things. "All's bowman, my covey. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your heart upon, but I regret to say—” “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie.
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