It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. The Rev. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. "I do not see him. Oh! you young people!” The young man with the orange tie, in spite of Sisyphus-like efforts on the part of Goopes to get the topic on to a higher plane, displayed great persistence in speculating upon the possible distribution of the affections of highly developed modern types. “How gratified she must have been! If only I had known I would have made an effort to get home in time for dinner. Still—” Then, with incredible and obviously deliberate stupidity, and a voice as flat as her own, he asked, “Who is the man?” Her spirit raged within her at the dumbness, the paralysis that had fallen upon her.
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