Her figure was, in some measure, hidden by a large scarf, and a deep hood drawn over the head contributed to her disguise; still it was evident, from her lofty bearing, that she had nothing in common, except an interest in their proceedings, with the crew by whom she was surrounded. I have brought disgrace upon you, and I haven’t been the right sort of wife at all. But this calm was more awful than the previous roaring of the blast. Piano wire, stained with black rust from the horrible deeds she had committed. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. She realized in a moment what had happened. Every time you mention the father, she turns into marble. ‘How much does he know?’ Without waiting for a reply, she turned narrowed eyes on Gerald. Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf. He was damned if he knew what to do.
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