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"I never told anybody," she went on. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. "Better than your company, Saint Giles," replied Sheppard; "so, shut the door, and make yourself scarce. ” “Don’t say that,” Sydney begged. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. Accepting his glass from the butler, Gerald glanced at Mrs Sindlesham and saw a dimple peep out. Already she knew that she was overstaying her welcome. Ann Veronica, with a sigh at the cost of hospitality, made a hasty negotiation for an extra tea and for a fire in the groundfloor apartment, and preened herself carefully for the interview. Vorsack echoed him. Well, it had to happen somewhen. “Not only that,” he answered. Lucy acted the part of savoring the end of the meal, but it was difficult. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. ” She replied. Manning,” she said, “for a time—Will you tell no one? Will you keep this—our secret? I’m doubtful—Will you please not even tell my aunt?” “As you will,” he said.
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