“I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. " "Sir Rowland is my brother," resumed Lady Trafford coldly. ’ Gerald infused sympathy into his voice, and deliberately addressed himself to Madame. “What’s wrong with having witchcraft books? Is she afraid that the Princeton Hill villagers will burn you at stake?” Lucy asked sarcastically. . ’ ‘No, you are a gentleman,’ she agreed. Then, presto! What a dreary lot they are when the revellers lay aside the motley! Ruth had come from a far South Sea isle. " "Take a glass of gin, Ma'am," cried Poll Maggot, holding up a bottle of spirit; "it used to be your favourite liquor, I've heard.
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