“Okay, Mom. . ’ Alderley grinned as his incensed friend refuted the suggestion that he was in need of a pacifier, and moved to the tray which his butler had just a short time past brought into the room and laid on the desk. “May I tell Nigel to come and see you again? I am not here to do his love-making for him, you know. Ramage. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. Because she states her case in a tangle, drags it through swamps of nonsense, it doesn’t alter the fact that she is right. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your heart upon, but I regret to say—” “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words. With trembling fingers she opened the post-bag.
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