" "Your secret?" demanded Trenchard, impatiently. Five minutes ago, his butler had entered the green saloon, an austere apartment, with dark forest-green wallpaper flocked with a swirling design, and heavy mahogany furniture. You had better go to bed. He was in trouble and she could not help him; that was the ache in her heart. "If I could work as fast as you, I might afford to be as idle. Once more breaking through the hedge he took to the fields. "He left an envelope with some money in it. ” “I’m not. Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her. But … he must want to live in order that the inclination to repeat this incident may not recur. You might even tire of me by then, you know.
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