’ ‘For shame, Hilary,’ admonished his fiancée, casting a pitying glance at the refugees. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. “I am sorry,” he said slowly. ‘I think,’ he said pleasantly, ‘that it would be as well if you, Hilary, were to go and fetch the troops. No more scuffling.
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