S. ” “May I put you in a hansom?” he asked, lifting his stick. The door leading to the front of the house was stealthily opening. ‘Tell me, my boy. But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine. The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround.
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