The girl only smiled at him serenely, but she laid her hand for a moment quietly upon his. Your aunt liked the pheasant. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says. It was comforting to have her there, snoring gently. He seemed to have shrunken in his seat. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. “And you?” “Same thing.
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