He seldom spoke, and drank with a persistence that was sinister. “You can’t think that I’m fool enough to be put off like this. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. The man was mad to marry me. For a moment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir John had made so many changes in her life.
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