‘You were his daughter. Sir John felt hot and furious. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. But after that it was easy. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. He comforted himself, however, with the certainty which he felt of capturing his prey on the Sunday. But we've got to cook up some kind of a story to protect her. Stanley, in his effort to seem at ease, took entire possession of the hearthrug.
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