" "Do not speak of it," rejoined Thames, with a look of horror. "But don't wait for me, Sir Cecil. "May come!—it will come!—it shall come!" cried the carpenter, shaking his hand menacingly at him. But one was clearly the goddess among them, her face hidden, her body seeming to call out to me to possess it at once. It’s not you—not a bit. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life.
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