He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. ‘I want a word with you, my lad. Not my affair, of course, but I think we ought to teach them more or restrain them more. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. The vicomte must be well known to those high-born who have gone to England.
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