Drummond smoked his cigarette meditatively. The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. "Thanks," he said, holding out a thin white hand. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. ‘Ah. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. “I don’t understand. " "I'm sorry I can't indulge you," replied her master, a little piqued. Will you please—Not now, or I must go. Where the devil have you hidden all those weapons? Don’t tell me you’ve got ’em with you. But, after some restoratives had been administered by Mrs.
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