‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. It was just such a bedroom as she would have chosen for herself. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you.
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