McClintock would bang his fist upon the table. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. B. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. Prudence? Mr Remenham’s sister that was. It must be the dawn creeping in. She wanted him so badly it hurt. ” “And you have sent him about his business.
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