The commissionaire stood there, tall and imperturbable. “Not only that,” he answered. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. “Forgive you, indeed. A woman hard to read, who seemed to delight in keeping locked up behind that fascinating rigidity of feature the intense sensibility which had been revealed to him, her master, only in occasional and rare moments of enthusiasm. "Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause. She clasped her hands over her mouth in a silent scream.
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