’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. John moved closer to her, getting up from his roost by one bench, he joined her at the bench where she sat. “Anna,” he pleaded, “be merciful. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. She felt pride sashay into her thoughts.
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