And how could I come home—when he locks me in rooms and all that?” “I do wish this wasn’t going on,” said Miss Stanley, after a pause. Once in, the constable's manner appeared totally changed. ‘This is altogether insupportable!’ She dug a hand into the recesses of the petticoat of her riding habit and a moment later Gerald found himself once again confronting the barrel of her overlarge and tarnished pistol. Playing became a way of escape. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. “And you?” “Same thing. But the five per cent. I suppose I ought to have been a man.
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