The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. My only excuse is that I missed my way here, and I am leaving Paris early to-morrow morning. Yet the fact remains that you do not understand me at all. ‘Oh, you may come to me on any mission you like,’ uttered Mrs Sindlesham roguishly. Drive away the cat; throw that measure of gin through the window; and tell me why you've not so much as touched the packing-case for Lady Trafford, which I particularly desired you to complete against my return.
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