No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss. Everything. She found him reclined, watching television in a small guest room hidden in a back wing of the massive house. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him.
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