Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. ‘Laisse-moi!’ Impatience swamped him. When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. Stanley admired and detested him in almost equal measure.
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