The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. On Monday Charvill had still not returned, and the major duly presented himself at Mrs Chalkney’s house in Grosvenor Square, thanking his stars that his friend Roding would not be there to spoil sport. An admirable alternative presented itself and she sighed, spreading her hands. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct. "I am, Charcoal. “No, Lucy, it isn’t fine and I am sorry.
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