" The Wastrel rushed. ” Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass. “You are coming in, aren’t you, Sydney?” “If I may,” he answered. She did not hear his approach, but continued her occupation without raising her head. With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. ’ ‘Ah, that was an affair altogether different,’ she explained and fluttered her long lashes at him.
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