“It’s all right,” he said, reassuringly to the inquirer without. There is a musical programme, and we have the windows open and blinds up, and a pink lamp shade over the piano lamp—a sort of advertisement of the place, you know. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. Stanley pronounced, and seemed to hesitate whether he had not gone too far.
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