The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. “In two days,” she reflected, “Mrs. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. He came in apologetically; all the old “Well, and how ARE we?” note gone; and once he asked Ann Veronica, almost furtively, “How’s Alice getting on, Vee?” Finally, on the Day, he appeared like his old professional self transfigured, in the most beautiful light gray trousers Ann Veronica had ever seen and a new shiny silk hat with a most becoming roll. Once or twice she commented upon it, but she knew that it was resultant of his fear of her impending departure. Leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley.
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