Silken open robes over full tiffany petticoats in a contrasting colour were, Lucy assured him, of the very latest Parisian design, cut by the finest French tailors. Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. ‘I just don’t understand you, Gerald. Already she missed all of her fine things, her linens and leather bound books. I’ve to collect my sword and hat, and then we must get back to London. “He fancied that he did,” she corrected him coolly. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly.
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