Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. Her eyes fell, and then sought his again with timid interest. In concealing himself behind the timber, Mr. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. “Don’t bunch too much as you come out,” she added. “Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise.
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