Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour. Mr. I'll send for Wu Fang. I want to hear how she does it. It was not an affair of the conscience; it was vaguely based upon insolence and defiance. She felt terrible lying to him. It still failed in something. “Now I suppose Brendon understands exactly what you mean,” he remarked. He looked distant, irritated.
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