’ 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. Peste, where was her handkerchief? She remembered then that it had been lost in the struggle with Gerald. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue.
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