Together they crept through the erstwhile drawing room and entered the massive flagged hall. She pointed hither and yon, smiled and shook her head. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. I’ve made an ally of her champion. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. I'm a stickler about clothes and clean chins. Promise me that you’ll contact the police if she ever calls you on the phone, or worse, shows up at your school.
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