But it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. She made a few protests, a few excuses for her action in accepting him, a few lame explanations, but he did not heed them or care for them. "Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently. Were it not for your voice, I don't think I should know you. Have we not received Lady Bicknacre just this morning? Not to mention the Comtesse de St Erme.
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