'" "What is that?" she asked. How old are you?’ ‘I have nineteen years, and it is quite unimportant. May I know your name?’ The lady eyed him. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. Sir John was not used to such glances, and he liked them. He scratched his upper lip reflectively.
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