A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. “Our interest lies in heading them off. Wood rest till he brought the villains to justice. But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine. \" \"I'm sorry I didn't call. " "But you are young!" It was a protest, almost vehement. But he could only utter an inarticulate exclamation. She was quite tired of the stream of visitors and heard with relief the words of her newfound great-aunt, addressed to her son’s butler.
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