“How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. ’ ‘Not if you want one of good family, no,’ he agreed mildly. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag.
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