" Lady Trafford sighed deeply. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. "I feel like work," he lied. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. ‘And she’s—’ She broke off, a sudden light in her eyes. I'm always shy the price of the ticket home. But I will never—never return. “Think of the mockery!” she said.
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