Yeah, I’m thirty-seven. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. ” “I think,” Lady Lescelles said, putting down her teacup, “that I must send Nigel to plead his own cause. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. I’ve been smoking cigarettes in the preparation-room and thinking this out. “A wonderful piece of work,” he declared.
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