"I have no sympathy," replied Prudence, "with a man who deliberately fuddles himself with strong drink. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. “No, no,” she cried. ” They were in the elder Widgett girl’s bedroom; Hetty was laid up, she said, with a sprained ankle, and a miscellaneous party was gossiping away her tedium. And you’re as clean as fire. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. Her mouth was worthy of her face; with small, pearly-white teeth; lips glossy, rosy, and pouting; and the sweetest smile imaginable, playing constantly about them. " "From some of your associates?" "From your uncle, from my uncle,—Sir Rowland Trenchard. \" She cooed into his ear, stroking his chest hair.
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