The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. I don’t defend it.
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