He was absolutely unable to focus his ideas. "The long and the short o' the matter's this then," returned Sharples with dignity, "the Markis begs your acceptance o' ten guineas to drink his health. Of course a little daughter is a delightful thing enough. He's got the gift of the gab. You hurt the child. I bored him. Besides—there is Sir John. She sensed his acute frustration as he unzipped her raincoat while trying to kiss her. There were shadows under his eyes. He found his youngest daughter intrusive in his thoughts all through the morning, and still more so in the afternoon. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. "It is too late. Spurlock had not coached her on this line of conduct.
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