She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. Accompanied by Sir Cecil, who still continued passionately enamoured of his sister, and to whom he represented that she had fallen a victim to the arts of a seducer, he set off, at fiery speed, for the metropolis. Hill, Meysey Hill. What passed between them I cannot think—I dare not. ‘Parbleu,’ said Gerald. She should be lifted out of her narrow little life, and it should be all owing to him.
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