’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. Who could say that the two weren't in collusion? When a chap like Spurlock jumped the traces, cherchez la femme, every time. Her eyes noted it mercilessly.
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