“This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. She had a few acquaintances, English gentlemen, but she lived with her sister—was a lady. ’ ‘I don’t, as a matter of fact,’ Gerald said decidedly, a frown creasing his brow. They're only just gone, mercy on us! what a clatter," she added, as the knocking was repeated more violently than before. The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily.
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