The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. Do not disquiet yourself. She could not feel her own body. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. ‘Peste,’ she wailed, as Emile dropped to the floor, ducking down. Yet you make our Bohemianism seem like a vulgar thing.
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