His face was that of a quick, intelligent-looking boy, with fine hazel eyes, and a clear olive complexion. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. I am entirely English, as you know well. I shall be very sorry if I cannot have you for a friend. The Night-Cellar XVIII. Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. Stanley lost patience.
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