The afternoon had passed now into twilight. “He’s got good taste, you know. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. It has come,—and sooner than you expected. ‘Yes, tell us everything at once,’ instructed Lucilla, pushing him towards the sofa she had vacated, and obliging him to sit beside her. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. “I loathe afternoon concerts, and——” She was really like her sister he thought, impressed for a moment by the soft brilliancy of her smile. She could not stir hand or foot.
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