His manner, however, was as stern and haughty as ever, and his glances retained their accustomed fire. It had, as it were, blown up at the concussion of his first step. ’ ‘And was not she put out?’ demanded Miss Froxfield with a tinkling laugh. “You were there, were you?” He laughed a little impatiently. On the way he confessed. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners.
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