“My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. And as for not knowing me, you abominable little liar, you’re perfectly aware that we met at Remenham House. She walked with long swinging steps, scorning the thought of buses or the tube. You'd not know what to do without me, and shan't drive me off. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. Her gratitude swelled within her.
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