The salt air was fresher than the stale air in the manor. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. " "Uh-huh. ” “You are jealous,” she declared contemptuously. The boy would never know just how lucky he was. Nigel, you have not forgotten!” “No,” he said, with a little bitter smile. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. She pushed him gently on the chest. I do not think you quite understand my ideals or what is becoming as between father and daughter. ’ ‘Charvill, then,’ Gerald concluded, unperturbed.
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