“Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. I shall count it a privilege. Perhaps I deceived you about it. She breathed deeply, and he breathed sympathetically. He looked at it with uplifted eyebrows, but made no remark. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. If I don't, you shall clap me in the Condemned Hold in his stead.
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