The ladies can't sleep in their beds for him; and as to the men, they daren't go to bed at all. He left Remenham House immediately after his wife died, giving birth to their daughter. “I have loved you,” he was saying, “ever since you sat on that gate and talked. She chuckled. . . He was halfway across the ballroom, where the dancing had ceased for the musicians to take a well-earned rest, when Roding pounced on him. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. It would be swindling. But for perfect satisfaction, he must take a peek into the bedroom. "I feel like work," he lied.
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