Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. "Why, this is your writing Dolly, and addressed to Mr. Russell burned like a beacon, but Capes illuminated by darting flashes and threw light, even if it was but momentary light, into a hundred corners that Russell left steadfastly in the shade. “Idiot!” She raged inwardly while she walked along with that air of self-contained serenity that is proper to a young lady of nearly two-and-twenty under the eye of the world. "You've won your wager. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house.
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