To-night I locked up my flat at six o’clock. At times he seemed to be claiming pity from her; at times he was threatening her with her check and exposure; at times he was boasting of his inflexible will, and how, in the end, he always got what he wanted. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. Your life is like a funeral March. "How very fortunate it is," he observed, "that I happened to call upon Mr.
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