207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. ” Horace, the manservant, transformed now into the semblance of a correctly garbed waiter, threw open the door. "These writer chaps are queer birds. A door slammed. ’ ‘Quite right, Gerald,’ approved Lucilla. It'll be advertised to-morrow. " "It has done me a whole lot of good to meet you. I’ll have to wait here, of course, which means you, Hilary—’ ‘Will have to do tomorrow’s patrol. I will not trust you. " "Have you told him so?" she inquired, reproachfully. The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out.
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