Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. Think how free that leaves me to follow things up! I must take you everywhere. But if I escape, my gratitude—" "Pshaw!" interrupted Jonathan, scornfully. She was glad when he went on: “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. It’s not like we’re getting married.
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