Here was a hole as wide as a church-door. Hetty, who had periods of lucid expression, put the thing for her from her pillow. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable.
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