"Is it by lettin' you go, my darlin', that I'm to airn it?" inquired Terence. Voting wouldn’t do no ‘arm to ‘er. ’ ‘You, perhaps?’ she flung at him furiously, stepping out from behind the desk. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. The theme was a masquerade. . “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. .
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