But I’d have done it without, though it weren’t my place. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. ‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship. ” He dared, his nostrils flaring. ‘I want a word with you, my lad. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him.
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