‘And me, I am a lady. The clerk at the Raffles Hotel had accorded her but scant interest. She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. He had done this a dozen times on the way from his office. From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. Barleycorn had sent to the mat for the count of nine: unless the young fool's daddy had a bundle of coin.
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