"No," replied Jack, peremptorily. Then he looked across at Mrs Sindlesham. I'm not sure I'd go out with him anyway. Together they crept through the erstwhile drawing room and entered the massive flagged hall. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. Leave me my blanket! I'm very cold at night.
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