It was a bogus affair altogether, kept by some blackguard or other of an Englishman. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. Then we can loiter and gossip to our heart’s content. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. "Try fifty pounds more," said Jonathan. Then a servant girl brought in a telegram. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity.
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