" "When will you want me?"—with pitiful eagerness. Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her. It isn’t the same thing. She washed her face with unwonted elaboration before she went to bed. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. ‘But it is not on the horse at all, Jacques. Almost instantly she had recognized the fallacy of such a statement.
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