"My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. Hidden menace; a prescience of something dreadful about to happen. I like you very much, I haven’t known you enough to love you, no matter how worthy you are of love. 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. Doctors constantly admonished and offered weak consolation that most would have been hurt much worse from the type of fall he took.
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