“You must not think of me as one. " "Mr. . " "What time is it?" inquired Jack. ‘How could you? No wonder mademoiselle is angry with you. ‘Gérard!’ ‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise.
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