Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. “Idiotic, isn’t it?” “Absolutely,” she agreed coldly. A little darling? Lord in heaven, he had taken leave of his senses. " "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. Sometimes he was obviously irritable and uncomfortable and unfortunate in his efforts to seem at ease. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. “My dad is into this stuff. “I do mean that,” she declared.
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