I'm speaking of virtuous women—of WIVES, Madam. Hers is quite the most exclusive set in London. Opals. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. One might suppose him turning up; he knew a lot of clever people, and some of them might belong to the class. The windows of these rooms were obscured with draperies, their floors a carpet patchwork; the china ornaments on their mantels were of a class apart. "May I beg to know whom I've the pleasure of adressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed name. The door closed softly upon her. Until now none of her prayers had ever been answered. That for you!" And she snapped her fingers in his face.
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