Sir John felt that after all forty-five was not so very old. It’s a mismatch. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. ‘Monsieur, my wife intended not to anger you,’ he said in a tone of apology. “You shall go,” he declared. E. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat.
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