"Your sympathy is being wasted. It was a brief solitude, however. I believe you’ve crushed a gland or something. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. “You do not quite understand,” she said gently. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. Brendon suggests supper at the Carlton.
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