“Then why the devil,” he demanded, “do you let me stand you dinners and the opera—and why do you come to a cabinet particuliar with me?” He became radiant with anger. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. You have to come over to my house. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence.
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