Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him. ‘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. Dinner was quite uneventful. Her head was downcast as she studied the museum-like exhibits of various dusts on the resilient tile flooring. And how could I come home—when he locks me in rooms and all that?” “I do wish this wasn’t going on,” said Miss Stanley, after a pause. “He’s got good taste, you know.
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