I wish I could get you to imitate Thames Darrell. She grew perhaps a shade paler, and she glanced out into the street, where her four-wheeler cab, laden with luggage, was still waiting. ‘The sisters here will not save you. Both of them. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. They did not speak until he had driven past town limits and were on the highway. It was a society column about the richest men in the world and their lavish parties.
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