” Drummond, a few years older, dark, clean-shaven, with bright eyes and humorous mouth, laid down his paper and turned towards Sir John. “And yet I wonder whether the world ever held such another enigma in her sex. ‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. Don't you understand? Back among your own again, and only a few of us the wiser. I may want you. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble.
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