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She had to wait some minutes in an outer office, wherein three young men of spirited costume and appearance regarded her with ill-concealed curiosity and admiration. He has been bottling it up all the way from West Kensington. “I know,” she said quietly, “that Paris, where she has been so much admired, is not a good place for her. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. Her state of mind would have seemed altogether discreditable to her grandmother.
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