‘Come, come, ma’am,’ he said smiling. Spurlock relaxed, suddenly, and sank deeply into his pillows. He addressed her by that title, and something in the tone disturbed her. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. Nevertheless, Sir John had the look of a man who was enjoying himself. Sharples," replied Quilt; "lock 'em up. “Come,” she said.
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