"How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. The tension was palpable. She winked at him as he shut the door. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. He had offered to escort the young lady to England where she might seek refuge with her relations there, and proposed that the maid Yolande might serve Miss Charvill.
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