That is what they call these aristocratic refugees, the English. ’ ‘Oh, she is English?’ repeated Alderley, interest perking up. Perhaps the doctor, the manager and the girl were in collusion: perhaps they had heard indirectly of the visit paid by Mr. McClintock did not exaggerate his ability to read faces. It was cheating, pitiful cheating. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. Fifty pupils. . . "Souls," she answered, drily.
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