You sent back my Christmas checks. Spurling, as if struck by a sudden idea. “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. There is Lady Arlingford’s reception to-night, ten till twelve, and the Hatton House ball, marked with a cross, sir, important.
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