They had chosen to deliberately and wickedly insult a lady who had done her best to entertain them for many weeks. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. Honestly, I never did. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. Wonderful! The water, dripping from you, must have looked like pearls. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver.
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