It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. “Dear friend,” she said, “remember that you are speaking to one who has failed in the only serious object which she has ever sought to accomplish. ” “I am going to ask more than a favour,” she said slowly. "Heaven be praised, I am not the son of a nobleman. She was perhaps as near tears as ever before in her life. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. ’ There was a pause.
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