“My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. It was a moment of breathless interest to all engaged in the attempt. I'm likely to get up any time in the night to work. A dressing-room then. Why? What is she to you?” “I was there by accident,” Ennison answered. Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her. “Then let me be the judge of what is best,” she answered.
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