There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. \"You look great!\" \"Thanks. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. ‘Something in that, missie. ” He extended his hand. But she did not listen long; she wanted to talk. She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers.
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