A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. Gerald, I mean, not Madame Valade. " "I expect no commiseration," returned Mrs. . ’ ‘What?’ uttered Gerald, startled. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. On the contrary.
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