She asked the inevitable question, the one she knew Michelle was waiting to field like a quarterback anticipating the pass. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. ‘Say then, Jacques, you have followed him?’ she demanded of the blackgarbed footman. The gong will go at seven-thirty. ” He was silent for some moments. ‘This from a man who calls himself my friend. ‘I’ve finished me report, sir,’ Trodger said aggrievedly.
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