“John?” He turned around in the recliner. He tried this sentence with expletives. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. The three young men exchanged expressive glances. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women. Such revelations she hoped would be considered out of place and inappropriate. "So, you young fool, I have found you!" she said, harshly.
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