The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. One point was that she was to wear fancy dress in the likeness of a Corsair’s bride, and the other was that she was to spend whatever vestiges of the night remained after the dance was over in London with the Widgett girls and a select party in “quite a decent little hotel” near Fitzroy Square. “But if you had?” she said. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. He had not to wait long. " "I can't! I can't—not now!" "Bat!—can't you see that she's the kind who would understand and forgive? She loves you. It would not burden him with any obligation. “I cannot say who he is,” said Ann Veronica, “but he is a married man.
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