Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. Looking sullen, he released the handle and sat back. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. " McClintock whistled. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid. “What a little brick!” he murmured. “This is all madness,” she declared wearily.
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