Wood fancied he recognised. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. Only she hadn’t. The fever came. wonderful. She perceived she had never really thought of any one but herself in all her acts and plans. There’s sure to be a place somewhere. Lady Palsworthy was the widow of a knight who had won his spurs in the wholesale coal trade, she was of good seventeenth-century attorney blood, a county family, and distantly related to Aunt Mollie’s deceased curate.
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