Then he opened the study door and called “Mollie!” and returned to assume an attitude of authority on the hearthrug, before the blue flames and orange glow of the gas fire. " "In whose favour is it made?" he inquired, sternly. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. “Garçon,” he said, “will you ask the gentleman at the next table if he will do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me. —BRENDON. ” She spoke with a certain asperity. He understood. He'd never forgive you. Here was a terrific figure gnashing his teeth, and howling like a wild beast;—there a lover, with hands clasped together and eyes turned passionately upward. There was a pint of champagne and a quart of mineral water (both taboo) at his elbow. .
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