’ Reminiscence made him smile. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. He opened the drawer of the writing table. “I have had a trying evening and I need rest. “What’s the objection?” “I suppose she ought to know?” said Gwen to her mother, trying to alter the key of the conversation. And not on Melusine’s account, but to see Prudence, who had no use for a cavalier.
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