’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. She turned there, clasped her hands behind her back and put up her chin. Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard. And on Monday and Tuesday she had failed to find him here.
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