What sort of a standard of life yours may be I do not know, yet in your heart you know very well that every word you have spoken to me has been a veiled insult, every time you have come into my presence has been an outrage. 155 The ringing doorbell jarred her from her stupor. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. "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. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know.
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