’ ‘And your precious vicomte didn’t wish for the English one,’ said Charvill, acid in his voice. Hurt beyond what he could imagine by the selfishness and pride of her forbears, whose fateful disputes had robbed her of the life she should have led, the plucky little devil had taken matters into her own hands. And, decently as he could, McClintock was giving the man the boot. It must be somewhere hereabouts. He meant to take her out of this room, perhaps even out of the house. “I rue the day I ever met you, Sebastianus. How could you draw the curtain aside which hides the great and holy places of life—you, who have never loved?” “You have become French to the core,” she murmured. I think too much about myself. " And she burst into a wild hysterical laugh. Which, if we are not all of us very careful indeed, will be stolen from Miss Charvill.
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