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Vendenning, and that charming widow's success at last year's horse show and whether the fashion of the function was reviving, and whether Beverly Plank had completely broken into the social sets he had besieged so long, or whether a few of the hunting and shooting people merely permitted him to drive pheasants for them, and why Katharyn Tassel made eyes at him, having sufficient money of her own to die unwed, and and and then, at last, as the big motor car swung in a circle at Wenniston Cross-Roads, and poked its brass and lacquer muzzle toward Shotover, the talk swung back to Siward once more having travelled half the world over to find him.
I'm driving to Wenniston, after breakfast, with Beverly Plank, and I need sleep." "I want to talk to you," he repeated doggedly. She regarded him for a moment in silence, then, with an assenting gesture, turned away into her room; and he followed, heavily apprehensive but resolved.
"You don't realise my accomplishments with the punching-bag." "So you mean to resist?" "Yes, I do. If I were going to surrender at once, I might as well go off to church with you now." "Wenniston church!" he said promptly. "I'll order the Mercedes." She laughed, lazily settling herself more snugly by the fire. "Suppose it were our fire?" she smiled.
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