The comments on the makeover lessened but were replaced by long admiring glances by boys who had never before given her the time of day. “How will you live?” she appealed. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. "I haven't worn anything else in weeks. Madame Valade was that kind of woman. gutenberg. That is why I was so anxious to leave Paris.
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