“She’s going to have some sort of meal with the Widgetts down the Avenue, and go up with them. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. It’s no good flying out at that, Vee; I didn’t arrange it. He was dressed immaculately in a suit of heavy Shantung silk. ‘Your master in?’ he demanded of the astonished footman, removing his cockaded hat and handing it over.
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