" "It came from Lady Trafford's jewel-box. Nobody regards Constance or Vee as a delicate trifle. ” She threw away the end of her cigarette. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. She began to exercise those lures which were bred in her bone—the bones of all women. " "Can't ve call for asshistanche?" "And who'll find us, if we do?" rejoined Wild, fiercely. Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks.
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