” He beamed upon her. She addressed Capes as though she spoke to him alone. He wore a long coat, beautifully flowered, and a hat with a turned up brim. She swallowed hard. “My hand! This isn’t the place. ‘Something wrong, madame?’ Her fan came up swiftly, hiding the lower part of her face. Here again instinct guided her. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother.
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