Rhea writhed and scuttled about like a crab. ’ 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. She crawled underneath the soft white sheets, reclining and pulling the blankets up to her chin. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love.
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