His conscience, however, was entirely another affair. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I want to hear it from your sister. Twelve years ago! It is an awful retrospect. We'll get together this afternoon; and you can pretend that I am your father. A bad sign; it signified that the heart action was in a precarious state. ‘But Gérard—if you mean the fellow Alderley who was making eyes at Yolande—is not here. She tiptoed into the entryway where some decorator had placed a live orchid upon a glassy ebony table. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. It's kind of comforting to have you there. His fingers closed upon her hand.
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