“How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my doorstep!” she remarked gaily. That is why I have dyed my hair, that is why I have abandoned my rôle of ingenuèe and altered my whole style of dress. "He is," replied a portly personage, arrayed in a gorgeous yellow brocade dressing-gown, lined with cherry-coloured satin, and having a crimson velvet cap, surmounted by a gold tassel, on his head. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask.
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