" "It matters not who I am," replied Jonathan, taking the money. She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. ’ She gestured at his hand, on which Roding’s makeshift bandage had been replaced by a more efficient one. She had seen her really only at teas, with the Stanley strain in her uppermost. “Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid.
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