‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. Opposite to her was a sallow-visaged young man, whose small tie seemed like a smudge of obtusively shiny black across the front of a high close-drawn collar. She went about, intentlooking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out before her. Nevertheless she withdrew her hand. You disgust me.
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