She cleaned everything, wiped every surface, mopped and scrubbed every last drop of blood. ‘Cajolery? This is not your style. Does it?” “I think it does. “You can’t imagine,” Sydney exclaimed, “that the people downstairs will be such drivelling asses as to believe piffle like that. Very likely you will disapprove highly of what I have done—I wonder? You may, perhaps, think I have done it just in a fit of childish petulance because my father locked me in when I wanted to go to a ball of which he did not approve.
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