“I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. Can you lend me some stuff?” “You ARE a chap!” said Constance, and warmed only slowly from the idea of dissuasion to the idea of help. Rousing himself, he went to the door. Perhaps you will explain the state of panic into which I seem to have thrown you. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs.
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