“I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. "Shall I fetch it for you, Sir?" "By all means. When they reached the door, he kissed her 246 again. Whatever you need to do, it is your business. . There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor.
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