‘She wouldn’t tell me. Jonathan, however, paid no sort of attention to this demonstration of hatred. Her thoughts were deflected from Vivie Warren by the peculiar behavior of a middle-aged gentleman in Piccadilly. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured. If it was not an actual personal lover, it still might be the lover not yet incarnate, not yet perhaps suspected. He was a young man of about two-and-twenty, who, without having anything remarkable either in dress or appearance, was yet a noticeable person, if only for the indescribable expression of cunning pervading his countenance. And now the fiend Gosse had taken even that away from her. “What has he to do with it?” “He was your sister’s master—her friend. “We played at love-making in Paris. Certain reserves went down on both sides. The overnight nervous strain began to tell; she became inattentive to the work before her, and it did not get on.
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