The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. He felt her observance and warmed to it. ‘That is good. I have always understood that men avoid like the plague a woman with a sense of humour. “MY DEAR VERONICA,—Your aunt tells me you have involved yourself in some arrangement with the Widgett girls about a Fancy Dress Ball in London.
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