’ 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. The turnkey looked round the next moment, but the manoeuvre escaped his observation. I’ve no name for it yet. She pushed. But it is not entirely without hope, for perhaps they may find some succour with Charvill.
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