“Ass!” he went on, still warming. His breath grew shallower as he approached the room, conscious of the loudness of his hallway-reverberated footfalls. What is it you’re after? Money, I suppose. Your attitude to me—” He fell into a brown study. She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. On Monday Charvill had still not returned, and the major duly presented himself at Mrs Chalkney’s house in Grosvenor Square, thanking his stars that his friend Roding would not be there to spoil sport. “I have brought you very nearly to my door.
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