But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. She had not noticed such beauty in many years, and it almost caused her to weep. You have been burning paper, I see. "Where is it?" "Are you the mother of this child?" inquired the person who had first spoken, addressing Mrs. Meanwhile, Mr. You know—I worship you.
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