"Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. He had a quick, shrewd, merry eye, and a look in which duplicity was agreeably veiled by good humour. ‘But a spy I am not. How are you?” “I’m fine,” she said, unaware of all events except for the voice on the other line. Old Lancashire families both. We must never let your father know we went. “Listen! There was a Meysey Hill in Paris, an American railway millionaire. ” She looked into her glass.
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