“You’re not a virgin, are you?” It was as much an accusation as a question. ’ Miss Froxfield regarded him in some interest. What a pig she was. “Hi Lucy. I wonder what it was. ‘André? Que dit-il?’ ‘My wife does not understand,’ said the fellow, frowning deeply. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. Five hours later she tiptoed down the hall and paused at the threshold of what they now called his study.
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