She held her hand to the place where he had slapped her. "By my shoul!" he exclaimed, smacking his lips, "dat ish goot—very goot. My reception at West Kensington you know of. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar.
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