Mrs. " "Do what you please with him," muttered Trenchard to Wild. Her faculties seemed for a moment numbed. His grey eyes burned under his shaggy eyebrows. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. A short flight of steps brought him to a dark passage, into which he plunged. He, for his part, was trying to grasp the series of unexpected reactions that had so wrecked their tete-a-tete. ” “Clear out?” cried Hetty. “By-the-bye, Lady Ferringhall,” he said, “do you know that I am a very great admirer of your sister’s? I wonder if she has ever spoken to you of me.
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