’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. . It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. He drew out the check and the editorial letter. Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. But perhaps I had better get a room in an hotel to-night and look round. She could not move. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. \" \"Wow.
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