" McClintock whistled. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. “Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said gently, “I am afraid that some fresh trouble has come to you. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. She made up her mind in the train home that it should be a decisive crisis. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. He had not considered this aspect of the business. There was enough contra-light to render her ethereal.
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