Life is two things, that’s how I see it; two things mixed and muddled up together. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. Briefly explained, she was as the child who discards the rag baby for the living one. Degree! degree! She smiled on a gallant of high degree. And they had an idea of what men were like behind all their nicety. As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her.
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