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The Woman with the Fan by Robert Smythe Hichens
page 43 of 387 (11%)
"Robin--"

"Pierce I said."

"And I said Robin."

Lord Holme frowned and stuck out his under jaw. When he was irritated he
always made haste to look like a prize-fighter. His prominent
cheek-bones, and the abnormal development of bone in the lower part of
his face, helped the illusion whose creation was begun by his expression.

"Look here, Vi," he said gruffly. "If you get up to any nonsense there'll
be another Carey business. I give you the tip, and you can just take it
in time. Don't you make any mistake. I'm not a Brenford, or a
Godley-Halstoun, or a Pennisford, to sit by and--"

"What a pity it is that your body's so big and your intelligence so
small!" she interrupted gently. "Why aren't there Sandow exercises for
increasing the brain?"

"I've quite enough brain to rub along with very well. If I'd chosen to
take it I could have been undersecretary---"

"You've told me that so many times, old darling, and I really can't
believe it. The Premier's very silly. Everybody knows that. But he's
still got just a faint idea of the few things the country won't stand.
And you are one of them, you truly are. You don't go down even with the
Primrose League, and they simply worship at the shrine of the great
Ar-rar."

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