‘She would not tell me. “That young man was giving a luncheon party to a dozen friends at the Café de Paris to-day. Prudence? Mr Remenham’s sister that was. Well, my dear, it is time you stopped wallowing in your sorrows like a common wretch. ‘Don’t put me at the necessity of marrying the abominable little wretch. The only thing that was louder to her was the beating of his heart. “Where were you?” He inquired, rubbing her shoulders. ’ Trodger eyed her with suspicion. I didn't think. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood.
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