“Why?” he asked, suavely. ‘And I suppose I shall be obliged to endure another nonsensical tale about your husband. You're an angel of goodness. Waving a white flag, naturally. ‘Tchah! So you’re the whelp’s girl, are you? Suppose you’ve nothing but that villainous French in your tongue. She turned to face him and he kissed her. Be kind to her. On gaining a stack of chimneys at the back of the house, he came to a pause, and again unmasked his lantern.
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