“He says you are frigid, Madame. ” Brendon rushed to the piano and strummed out a tune. “I’ve never been prone to them. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. “It is very, very difficult,” she continued, looking steadfastly at the ground. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. It was easy to discern Gianfrancesco’s mood. "I think I may trust him with you, Sir," added she, taking up the candle.
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