” “By God!” said Manning, making the most of the word, “I suppose it’s fate. It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up. He grunted a little with effort, and she realised the gilt frame must be heavy. She pointed across the road. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. A lucky escape.
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