This—all this swamps them. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. Sir John saw it, and was flattered. She attempted by a sheer act of will to end the scene, to will herself out of it anywhere. Watching her strip had been delicious for him, and a part of him enjoyed her self-consciousness acutely. Fifty pupils. “And aren’t there fees to pay at the Imperial College?” her aunt was saying—a disagreeable question. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm. "Jack!" she cried, raising her head.
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