He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. “Please forgive me coming up, Miss Pellissier, but you have not been down to dinner for three nights, and—Brendon and I—we were afraid that you might be unwell. ” He took his place by her side, and they talked lightly of London, the shops and people. You couldn’t help it. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will.
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