“I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. ’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral. Something he saw there had a curious effect upon him.
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