” “What else,” Lady Lescelles murmured, “are men for?” Anna laughed. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. 192 Her skirt had ridden almost to her hips. For a few minutes, she appeared scarcely sensible of his presence. Do not imagine that I cannot do so, as well as I can this Gérard. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations.
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