‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. Sir John gave his order, deliberately stumbling now and then over a word, and anglicizing others. The girl stupidly ran for the teacher leaving her still without clothing. “I don’t think she will,” she said. ‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage.
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