‘Until today. The lantern was on the ground inside, ready. Stanley, whose family had been by any reckoning inconsiderable—to use the kindliest term. I don’t believe in the faults. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. The theme was a masquerade. One was in the Indian Civil Service and one in the rapidly developing motor business. Would Gerald wish his friend to follow the man? He had hardly registered the decision that he had best do so, albeit with some reluctance, when his trained senses alerted him to an extraordinary circumstance.
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