“I’m so glad you’re here, Peter,” she said. "I've lost my wager. " "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, preoccupied, almost depressed figure. ‘Hates doing the pretty. ’ ‘Get going, then,’ Trodger told his men. Why not? Quite willing. Gerald at once rid himself of his own glass and leapt to her assistance.
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