Blueskin is booked. Wood had retired to his own room, where he had just summoned Thames. She had, poor inexperienced fool, given herself away. “You may not leave. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. The Leads. ‘And so?’ she asked.
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