The season was ripe for mating, she thought to herself bitterly. The burden of decision had been transferred. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. “You mustn’t talk any more,” he said, “but I want you to listen to me just for a moment. " "Hold your tongue, sirrah," rejoined Shotbolt, not over-pleased by the remark, "and mind what I tell you. "Sorry you're obliged to keep your word. The future Mrs Roding turned bright, laughing eyes on the major.
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