He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. ” She looked at him with curious eyes. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. He breathed a little sigh of satisfaction.
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