"My father!" she whispered. And don’t tell me what you’ve been up to, dashing off to Remenham House with that Kimble lad, and Lord knows what besides, because I don’t want to know. He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful gesture, got up and left the cell. ’ Mrs Sindlesham abruptly sat up straighter in her chair. For freedom at least. A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian. Their conversation became stilted.
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