“TROUSERS!” she whispered. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. It’s not like we’re getting married. He breathed a little sigh of satisfaction. But, as soon as he perceived who it was, he roused himself, and glared fiercely at the intruder from under his bent brows. Spurlock grew cold.
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