“I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. This was irregular. As to following, there was no one. Ruth?" "Why the devil not? Why do you suppose she married you if she didn't love you? While you read I watched her face. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals. She had never even brought a friend home in her time at the Becks, let alone been asked on dates. "'Sdeath! do you trifle with me, sirrah?" cried Rowland fiercely. Spurling in alarm. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs. The gentlemen are so particular now, and a good thing too, I say. He will wish to have his fears laid to rest.
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