A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. ’ ‘It’s already known,’ said Mrs Sindlesham, ‘judging by the number of callers we have had these two days. Mr. We leave this room together. ‘And I’ll say it as often as I choose, you confounded impertinent wench! Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m your grandfather, girl. It’s the sort of way a woman always does gloss over her ethical positions. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. The vast mirrored chamber, with its four little square window bays, two either side of the large raised dais that led to the French doors, was very full of company for the start of the Little Season. Why else?’ Gerald stared at her blankly. He seemed too noisy.
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