Charvill’s fury was burning out. The young lady with frizzled hair, whom Brendon had pointed out to her as Miss Ellicot, leaned forward from her hostess’s side. She had a vision of policemen, reproving magistrates, a crowded court, public disgrace. She treaded down the hall swiftly but stopped abruptly when she heard a voice in back of her. ‘Then I am not mad in the least. And now you must go back, take up your work and think all this over. “And yet,” he said, “you bid me talk cheerfully, or not at all.
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