‘Come, cry a truce. I’m going up to London with the Widgetts to that ball. This was his humiliation as well as hers. All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. He motioned the young man to the rear chair, because at that hour the youth appeared to be a quantity close to zero. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I want to hear it from your sister. If you could see how it gives them souls, women who have taken things for granted, who have given themselves up altogether to pettiness and vanity.
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