It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. The few whites he had ever known generally offered to pet him when they really wanted to kick him. I'll be quiet.
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