“Is Lady Lescelles in?” he asked the butler. Only I do not care to write about anything else. ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Gerald. It loves to sit on your knee. “Stop this—this humbugging,” he explained. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. Some man! And to conclude it all was the figure of her father in the doorway, giving her a last chance, his hat in one hand, his umbrella in the other, shaken at her to emphasize his point.
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