"Jack!" she cried, raising her head. "Promise me that. He walked her home. ‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair. Sometimes I think she’s tired of us. ’ ‘Precisely. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. Nervously he pulled alongside the dilapidated oncewhite farmhouse. He was caked with dried muck.
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