And don’t tell me what you’ve been up to, dashing off to Remenham House with that Kimble lad, and Lord knows what besides, because I don’t want to know. “My husband!” she laughed a little derisively. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. Gerald would not marry her even with a dowry. “But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. And then she fell into a musing about Capes. “I don’t know, John. Ain't we, partner?" he added, appealing to Langley, whom punch had made rather dozy. She told you —the truth.
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