Polly hadn't wanted to work for Dr. Geoffrey Mortimer in the first place. Now, with the job nearly at an end, she should have been happy. Happy! She'd never felt more miserable. Geoffrey was demanding, arrogant and unforgiving, yet she had to make an effort to put things right between them. The lump in her throat made speech difficult. "Geoffrey," she pleaded, "you must believe me. You have the wrong idea about me. I'm not that sort of girl!"
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