Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. Though they do, in secret, I believe. And now, a fair exchange, Sir. The cloth nearly touches the floor. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. It was no use. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. The whole neighbourhood was disturbed.
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