"Hear me," he cried, restraining himself with difficulty. " "What right have you to suppose this, Sir?" demanded Trenchard, sternly. 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. " "I don't care if he is," rejoined Thames, boldly. “That’s not working so well for you, is it?” She looked at him sheepishly, bringing a Kleenex out of her pocket to wipe away the excess. Forthwith he presented his card. These were so outside her experience that she found it possible to thrust them almost out of sight by saying they would be “all right” in confident tones to herself. Sheppard, bitterly.
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