” Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass. He felt he had raised a storm which it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to allay. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. You know—I worship you. “In Paris. Were I to let you go, you'd say I feared you.
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