For the present, he murmured his farewells, and turning, caught Hilary’s eye and walked away, crossing the ballroom to move into the less opulent, and less crowded, saloon next door where servants were dispensing refreshments. Sir John felt and looked several years younger. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. “Would you stand it? I’m going to clear out.
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