Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. Mrs. Major said you’d gorn. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. She began to feel odd sensations while peering busily at his shoulder and profile. I have—run away. And let ush go back to our brandewyn, and hollandsche genever. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room.
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