’ ‘What, for not wanting to marry you?’ ‘Imbecile. Mr. He took up his hat and went. I’m going up to London with the Widgetts to that ball. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. "You'd better surrender quietly, Jack," he cried; "you've no chance.
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