She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. Anna’s face however was wholly impassive. "Take him home, Saunders," said Sir Rowland, resigning his faulty steed to the attendant's care, "I shall not require you further. ‘Ah, yes? To what do I pretend?’ ‘That,’ Gerald said regretfully, ‘I have not yet been able to fathom.
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