Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. ‘You wish a life of obedience? So be it, Mademoiselle Charvill. He had made himself master of the layout of the house, that was plain. I want to do something. Spurlock to keep to the bungalow until the rogue goes back to Copeley's. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. This won’t do. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely. A queer nut.
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