‘Let her go. ‘I want a word with you, my lad. Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. It was years before your time. I tell you—never mind the bill.
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