For the present, he murmured his farewells, and turning, caught Hilary’s eye and walked away, crossing the ballroom to move into the less opulent, and less crowded, saloon next door where servants were dispensing refreshments. "Thames was just observing—" "Thames!" echoed Mrs. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major.
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