‘What, and miss getting myself murdered?’ ‘She said she wouldn’t murder you. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. It’s just like your Splendid Pride to do it. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. ‘But for my dowry, what else? One cannot expect that an Englishman will marry any jeune demoiselle without a dowry. She threw him his car keys. Go to her and tell her. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands. I thought every one had heard about it.
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