‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ protested Hilary angrily. No, not one little bit. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. It isn't your duty. If you live, well and good; if you die, well and good. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. "I'm prudence personified. He had never liked to be hugged, but she wondered if his corporeal needs would be made apparent by human touch.
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