CHAPTER XXII. A friend of mine, Ogilvy’—I suppose that’s Ogilvy & Ogilvy, who do so many divorces, Vee?—‘was speaking very highly of it—very highly!’” He smiled into her eyes. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers.
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