Well, I'd no idea," she continued, pursuing her ruminations as she left the room, "that people of quality laughed so. “Jacques is wounded and we are arrested by this imbecile of a sergeant. If the Wastrel had not turned the instant he did, the ball would have missed him; as it was he turned directly into its path. He liked to draw her in, and she did her best to talk. Her eardrums were burning with the echoes of those hideous shouts. The villagers were thronging to church. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. And when Manning was not about the thing seemed simple enough. ‘Jacques?’ ‘No.
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