’ ‘Do you take me for a fool, Hilary?’ demanded his betrothed. She had all the fascination of being absolutely perplexing in this respect. You’re a good friend. “Nice sleeve,” she said, and came to his hand and kissed it. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. As the Wastrel rushed, Spurlock sidestepped, swept the ball into his hand, set himself and threw it. And, also, she wanted to borrow that money.
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