Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. “I have no wish,” he said, “to altogether ignore the fact that you are my wife’s sister, and have therefore a certain claim upon me. Wonderful! The water, dripping from you, must have looked like pearls. I don’t want to influence you unduly—But—They’re artistic people, Vee. That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone. Happen what might, he could not be in a worse position. And Mr. "I shall kill her if I stay longer," muttered her son, completely terrified. That dress is thirty years old, if a day. Perhaps you'll call that charity: I call it defeating the ends of justice. Something in his tone pinched her heart.
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