She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. "Somebody ought to get hold of that young man," said Prudence, grimly, as she nodded in Spurlock's direction. Supposing they find you and take you away?—and she unprepared? Have you thought of that? Why did you marry her?" "God alone knows!" "And you don't love her! What kind of a woman do you want, anyhow?"—with rising anger. "Anything else?" "Your waistcoat. Do you know, I am beginning to believe that we only exist nowadays by the tolerance of these millionaire tradesmen.
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