‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. ‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. But not once in these ten years had they borne blossom or fruit.
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