Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. ‘Indeed?’ Gerald grinned. We simply can’t get away. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. I suspect he has been at work upon those he has on. Drink this!” He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips. Some indeed carried themselves, dressed themselves even, rather as foreign visitors from the land of “Looking Backward” and “News from Nowhere” than as the indigenous Londoners they were. They fight over money all of the time. The flat was apparently empty.
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