"Oh! you men! you men! Once get a thing into your head, and nothing will beat it out. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. " "How so?" asked Thames. Sheila’s own waif of a husband had objected to her airing the truth, he had even gotten the nerve to bring up the word divorce. He heard Melusine cry out, but his attention was all for the nick he had made in her neck. ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her.
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